


Precious Little Happiness

by Nordhumbrensian



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Class Issues, Cosy beds and nice hot dinners all round, Fluff and Smut, Implausible rescue, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordhumbrensian/pseuds/Nordhumbrensian
Summary: There was indeed precious little happiness in the world, whether that was in the Arctic or back in an England which was neither welcoming nor grateful for their sacrifices. But they would take what life gave them and damn well make the best of it.For the Terror Big Bang; you can find the art by katherine1753here.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44
Collections: The Terror Big Bang 2020





	Precious Little Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Little’s family background is entirely fictional, and bears no resemblance to the background of the historical person. Other characters’ backgrounds are either taken from the series or may be based in history, but are greatly fictionalised

Edward Little knew exactly what sort of naval officer he wanted to be. He had been enchanted by stories of the sea, of the Navy, for as long as he could remember and he had so wanted to be part of those stories. Bravely dashing aboard an enemy ship, leading his men from the front or loyally following his captain, navigating the sea as if it were his home. And he tried, tried with every fibre of his being, to be that officer. He practiced everything with concentrated intensity - he'd learned the Queen's Regulations so fast he'd been called Little Swot for two years. Loyalty, honour, duty, bravery were the words he tried to live by.

But however hard he tried, he never quite managed it. He never had the ease, the confidence needed to be that sort of officer. His diligence earned him promotions and praise, but he knew he would always fail to be the officer he wanted to be.

Then there was his deeper shame. The desires that flowed so against nature he couldn’t even work out how to pretend to be interested in a woman. He prayed for his family, his comrades, and to change himself, though he was fairly certain that his soul was irredeemably damned. 

In truth, he'd only ever acted on those desires twice; brief, nameless encounters which were sordid but satisfying. And as far away from any naval port as possible. He vowed that if he could not change himself, the least he could do was keep this part of him fully separate from the Navy. 

He had broken that vow so easily. 

The ships were so over-stuffed with fuel and provisions that they were beyond cramped, just tiny warrens between crates and barrels. Half of his day was spent squeezing past other men in corridors or on companionways. That hadn't mattered at all until he and Jopson had accidentally tried to go through the same narrow doorway at once. It should have been immediate apologies on both sides, then junior give way to senior, as it always had been until then. But he had looked at Jopson, actually looked at him for the first time instead of vaguely registering him as a presence, and that was it. There was only a couple of heartbeats' pause, a look exchanged and nothing more, and then they were apologising and going about their business. 

A few hours later Jopson had seen him alone, and made the slightest tilt of his head towards the companionway. Little followed him, allowed himself to be pulled into an impossibly small space between barrels of flour, to kiss and touch more desperately than he had ever done in his life. 

That had been four days out of Stromness. Four days. 

He promised himself he wouldn't do it again. 

One hint of a smile, one tilt of Jopson's head, and that promise was forgotten. And forgotten again, and again and again. 

The one thing he could do - one thing which was about loyalty and honour and duty - was that if they were caught he could take the blame. Say that he had forced Jopson, coerced him. It wouldn't mean that Jopson wouldn't be punished, but it meant that the Captain could show leniency. So there would only be one body swinging from a noose. 

On a ship this crowded it could only be a matter of time before they were caught, but even the thought of being hanged wasn't enough to stop him following any time Jopson looked at him and smiled. 

It was the first winter at Beechy that he realised it wasn't just sex. Holding him close, the warmth of another body against his. And they started to talk as well. Tiny, whispered things as they held each other. Family. Home. Things they missed. Things they did not miss. Listening to Jopson's voice in his ear, his real voice, not the one he used in the captain's cabin.

He'd held Jopson in his arms on his mother's birthday, face tucked into the crook of his neck, held him as he wept. 

None of this ever went further than their little nook in the hold. He knew Jopson's first name was Tom, but deliberately always thought of him as Jopson - to slip into calling him by his first name would be tantamount to revealing their intimacy. He was more offhand, less polite and warm towards him above decks than he would have been if anyone else had been the Captain's steward. He needed to be sure that there was enough distance that he would never slip up.

It was the second winter that he admitted to himself that he was in love. Not that he said as much; he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to. The words curled around his tongue, unsaid, as he pulled Jopson into fierce kisses and tight embraces. 

The hold was so cold they'd wrap themselves together, overcoats open to cocoon them. They'd stroke each other to hardness in their trousers, rutting against each other as they kissed, only unbuttoning at the last possible moment, to come pressed against each other, an ill-used handkerchief stopping their uniforms being stained. Other times he would go down on his knees, suck Jopson's cock until he felt his legs shake, until he came with fingers dug into his scalp, and then Jopson would be on his knees for him. 

Sometimes that was all the time they had, and they'd rush back to wherever they were supposed to be. Other times they could linger a little, never too long, hold each other, talk. 

"I don't know what your shoulders look like."

Jopson pulled back a little to look him in the eyes, looking amused. "They are quite usual shoulders."

"But I've never seen them. I've never seen you undressed. Never seen your shoulders, your back, most of you." 

"Never seen you undressed either. I want to."

He smiled. "A warm room, with a locked door, a roaring fire, and a large bed. I would undress you, and kiss your shoulders, your spine, everywhere."

Jopson's eyes sparkled. "As long as you're paying for the room."

He kissed him hard. "That's a promise." 

And then that spring, everything began to fall apart around them. The time with Jopson started to feel like the only truly real, understandable thing he had. Naval routine carried on, but it felt hollow. Like they were children pretending to be officers and sailors and marines, not grown men. But down there in the hold, when they were together, things were real and solid and he felt alive.

It was when the ship was nearly empty that they were caught. Sheer carelessness and stupidity - stores had been moved, the nook had gone, they had thought they were out of sight and they were not. They had been entwined, kissing, rutting skin to skin, so close and caught up together that it was only Irving's "Lieutenant!" that had alerted them to his presence. Even then, these parts of his life were so separate from each other that it took him moments to process what had happened. He broke the kiss, but did not actually let go of Jopson until Blanky appeared. They hastily redressed themselves.

Irving was red with anger and disbelief. "You- you- I shall inform the Captain of this immediately."

"Steady on," said Blanky, "No need to go rushing to conclusions."

"Rushing to conclusions?" said Irving, "You saw them- together- there is no other conclusion to come to!" 

"Aye, well, not good lighting down here, is it? Things can be misinterpreted."

Irving confronted Blanky. "As your actions could be misinterpreted as attempting to shield crewmembers who have broken Queen's Regulations. I will be going to the Captain. Now." He stalked off. 

Blanky sighed. "Back to your duties lads. Sure you'll be found if you're needed." 

He couldn't even bring himself to look at Jopson. He stumbled up the companionway in a daze, and sought any task to try and focus his careering thoughts. 

The ship was empty enough that only Blanky had been summoned by Irving's exclamation. Not that it mattered. Irving was going to the captain, and he was going to hang. 

That actually gave him some focus. He was going to hang. Jopson did not have to hang. His words needed to be confident, repentant - he had forced himself on Jopson, who had not been able to stop this because the ship was too empty to summon any help. Did that sound right? No, Jopson was not helpless, could fight him if needed. A weapon seemed melodramatic. Threats associated with rank then. That he would say things to the Captain, or something like that. Jopson's nature sat well with that, so this would be his story. 

Eventually, he was called to the Captain's cabin. The two captains were seated at the table, Blanky and Irving at the side of the room; Jopson stood in the middle of the cabin, obviously arrived just before him. Irving still looked angry; Blanky was unreadable. The captains looked as they had looked for the last couple of months - Crozier was drunk and Fitzjames was annoyed. 

He stood to attention next to Jopson and looked fixedly at a beam behind the two captains. 

"I don't need to tell you why you're here," said Crozier, "and I know that you both know your Queen's Regulations."

"If I may have permission to speak," said Edward, plunging on without giving any chance for permission to be granted, "it should be me alone who faces consequences, as I forced Mr Jopson- "

"That's a damn lie-" interrupted Jopson. 

"I did not give either of you permission to speak," said Crozier loudly.

He could feel that Jopson was looking at him, but he kept looking at the beam. 

"In our current circumstances," said Fitzjames, "hanging two men is a waste of manpower that we cannot countenance. So it will be as if this incident never happened. It will not be recorded. It will not be mentioned by any man present here, under any circumstance."

"And," said Crozier, "the two of you will perform your duties with the absolute minimum of interaction with each other. If it is possible for you to be at opposite ends of the ship, you will be. This collective amnesia happens once, and once only. Any further breaches of Queen's Regulations will be tried and punished. Do I make myself clear?"

Both he and Jopson managed a "Yes, sir!" 

"Dismissed," said Crozier, "All of you."

Edward went to his cabin, as fast as he could without seeming to run. Shutting the door behind him he curled onto the bunk and squeezed his eyes shut, but that could not stop the tears. 

\---

Tom knew that he should be grateful. To be caught like that, and let off with only a warning? He’d describe it as miraculous, except that the only reason they had been let off was the deaths of so many men already, and the threat of more. Perhaps the Devil did look after his own after all.

He didn’t feel well-disposed to Old Harry. He felt as if someone had taken one of Dr MacDonald's saws and carved a hole in his chest. At the same time he cursed his own stupidity. He’d known from the first time he stepped on board ship that getting involved with someone at sea would be close-on suicide. No privacy, all gossip. He was too careful for that. Or he had been. One wide-eyed look from Little and he’d thrown that to the wind and let his lust take him where it would.

And where had it taken him? To a man who, when all the officer was stripped away, was warm and giving, who trusted him far too easily – the things Little had told him, all those fears, uncertainties, could be used to break him, if Tom had been that sort of man. Instead, Tom felt safe in Little’s embrace, in a way he found hard to understand. He knew there was nothing that Little could protect him from that he couldn’t deal with himself, but that feeling was still there. It made him say things that he never even intended to. That first February, he hadn’t meant to tell Little that it was his mother’s birthday; definitely hadn’t meant to tell him how she died; certainly hadn’t meant to lose control and sob the way that he hadn’t let himself at her funeral. Little had just held him, no meaningless words, no trying to stop him crying.

It was after that he’d realised that he loved him, fiercely, protectively, stupidly. Mostly stupidly. And stupid was why they’d been caught.

They had been told to continue their duties as if nothing had happened, so that was what Tom was going to do. He had managed to continue his duties and keep a smile on his face when he'd felt worse than this in the past, so today was going to be no different. 

But he could feel his Captain watch him as he worked his way around the cabin as usual. He ignored this until he had completed all his tasks. 

At the point where he was about to leave, he stopped and looked at his Captain. "I am sorry to have disappointed you, sir."

"Disappointed me? Aye, that's about right. Disappointed me twice over."

"Twice over, sir?"

"First, you know better than most that trapping men together like this means we're like a boiler ready to explode. Relations like that bring us closer to explosion, and you damn well know that. And second, you were damn fool enough to get caught."

"Sorry, sir." 

His Captain dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Away." 

He carried on as normal, as far as possible, the only change being that he would actively avoid Little, finding reasons to be places he knew Little would not be. That was not just because he had been ordered to do so. Before, when he had seen Little looking miserable (which had been becoming more and more frequent), he knew that he could find him later, take him to their space in the hold and hug him, listen to him, kiss him, touch him, anything that would at least briefly ease his frown. Now whenever he caught a glimpse of Little he looked miserable, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

His Captain didn't mention it again until he was nursing him through his withdrawal. He was wiping down his face and neck, when his Captain said, "He'd have hanged for you."

"Sir?"

"Edward. He'd have put a noose around his neck to save yours."

"I wouldn't have let him, sir."

"That would have put a noose around your neck too."

"Better that than the alternative."

"You know what Fitzjames said? Said that it was a pity that such loyalty and honour was not paired with any Christian morality." His Captain coughed. "I didn't tell him that if I had to choose, it would be loyalty and honour over Christian morality. And you're not going to tell anyone I said that, either."

"No, sir."

Alone after leaving the cabin, he tried to gather his thoughts. The ache in his chest was suddenly worse now, and he knew that the only thing that would cure it would be to find Little and hold him so tight that he could barely breathe. But he couldn't do that. 

Checking that he was not observed, he took a slip of paper and wrote three words on it. He then walked past the deserted officer's cabins, checking that there was no-one around. Satisfied he was unobserved, he darted into Little's empty cabin and shoved the sip of paper under the sheets before going back to his duties. 

It didn't ease the ache in his chest much, but it was the only thing he could think of to do. This was all so _stupid_ , to be distracted like this when there were much bigger things to worry about.

The next night, when he turned back his sheets to go to bed, he found a folded slip of paper there. He opened it up. In Little's careful handwriting it just said, "I love you too". 

He held it for long moments, looking at it. Then he took out his sewing kit, and took his jacket off its peg. He sliced a couple of the stitches in a seam between the buttons at the front, folded the paper again and slid it in between the outer and the lining. He sewed the seam shut again, catching the stitches through the paper so it would not move out of place. He looked at his handiwork; the jacket seemed the same as before. But if he rubbed between finger and thumb he could feel where the paper was, and would know it was there even if he didn't touch it. 

The note would sit over his heart every hour he was awake. 

\-----

The euphoria of rescue had evaporated like mist under hot sun. As their strength returned, so the questions became harder. They had lost two ships, nearly a hundred men. Men had mutinied. 

They were separated, moved across the country, imprisoned and the questions became interrogations. 

Edward told the truth, trying to skim over the things that showed other officers poorly. It was easier to tell them his own failings, his own weakness (all but the one which would condemn Jopson as well as himself), and he felt a lightness for doing so. He knew that if they were minded to do so they could knit his words into a charge he could be hanged for, but he could no longer bring himself to care. But they shot questions into his silences and twisted until he told them things in spite of himself. Sir John ignoring advice. Crozier's drinking. 

He asked about writing to his family to tell them that he was alive, about writing to the families of those lost. He was given the curt reply that all families had been informed. 

There was plenty of time between the questions for him to pace his cell and blame himself. He replayed every time he wavered, every time he should have been decisive but instead folded. Most of all he replayed saying that they should leave the sick, continue without them. Jopson's expression, his anger. 

He had failed as an officer. Failed as a man. Failed the man he loved. After that, what was left? 

At the end of yet another interrogation, the officer sat across the table from him tidied his papers. "Thank you, Mr Little. You will be put on board ship tomorrow, and taken as a passenger to Portsmouth, where the formal Courts Martial will take place."

"And the others, sir?"

"Will be boarded with you. The officers will face Courts Martial together, though on individual charges, to avoid repetition of evidence. The men will be paid off but required to remain until they have given their testimony before the court." 

It was now the end of November, and he had the nasty thought that it might serve the Navy's purposes if they were to be lost on a winter crossing. It wasn't a Navy ship they were put on, but a chartered boat, though it looked seaworthy enough from the brief glimpse he had as he was marched on board by two Marines.

On board there was one area for officers, one area for the men. No communication with the crew, no communication between officers and men. Short times above decks only, at the discretion of the Marines, and a maximum of three men at once, supervised by three Marines. He felt sure that the only reason they weren't being confined individually for the voyage was that it would require either special adaptations to a ship or more Marines than the Navy was willing to spare. 

But once they were confined to their part of the ship, the Marines seemed content to leave them alone. He suspected that they had no desire to spend time cooped up with their prisoners. So he found himself sitting opposite Jopson at a small table, Fitzjames to his left and Le Vesconte opposite him, with Crozier at the head of the table facing Blanky at the other end. 

The Captains seemed relaxed about him and Jopson being so close to each other, which was good as the only alternative would have been to shut themselves in their cabins for the duration of the voyage.

He couldn't meet Jopson's eye. Even the awareness of his presence made Edward feel the weight of his guilt increase, to feel the beginnings of nausea as he reviewed his failings again. He would beg Jopson's forgiveness, but he knew he didn't deserve it. 

The silence was heavy, and none of the others seemed inclined to talk either. Edward's nausea kept rising as his thoughts wore circles. He tried to distract himself by thinking of what would be happening above decks, turning what he could hear into pictures of a ship preparing to sail. If only someone would say something. 

But he realised that there was something that he wanted to say to someone other than Jopson. He turned to Crozier. "I'm sorry, sir."

"What for?" Crozier sounded tired, defeated. 

"When they were questioning me. I said things- about you that I did not mean to say."

Crozier looked him in the eye. "Were they true?"

"Yes."

"Well then. You did your duty as an officer."

"But-" he swallowed, "I think I would prefer to be a loyal friend than a dutiful officer." 

Crozier smiled warmly. "I think I would prefer that too, Edward." 

"I think we all had things wrung from us that we did not intend." said Fitzjames. "But we have a solid few weeks ahead of us to work out what they know, and try and guess what they will do with that." 

Jopson looked at Edward. "They were very good at seeing what you didn't want to tell them." 

He thought Jopson was trying to be reassuring, but his words still gave a stab of fear through Edward’s chest. Not just because of the obvious secret between them, but those nights pacing, thinking, comparing himself and finding himself wanting. That twisted the fear into anger at himself, at everything. 

"And what was it that you didn't want to tell them?" He shouldn't be saying this, should stop talking, but the emotions he'd been keeping contained while being questioned were all still boiling under the surface, and words came out in a flood. "Because I damn well confessed to everything I should have done better, confessed to how damn weak I was, and you don't need to say because everyone at this table knows you're twice the officer I ever was."

Jopson met his gaze evenly. "Every man has his limit, just most aren't tested to it."

"But you weren't the one who suggested leaving people behind. I was the one who was weak enough to put my survival ahead of brotherhood. You were the one who-" 

"All right!" said Jopson angrily, "I'll call you weak, I'll call you a useless officer, I'll call you a bastard, is that what you want? Does that make it better?" 

"Gentlemen!" said Crozier loudly. Edward belatedly realised that he'd leaned so far across the table that he was half out of his seat, and that Jopson had mirrored him. They both sat down again and Edward looked at the table, feeling his cheeks flush with shame. Crozier continued, "We are going to be cooped like this for at least three weeks. I suggest we try and resolve any differences as amicably as possible." 

"Not a bad point, about being tested more than most can think of,” said Blanky.

“And that better good friends than good officers,” said Fitzjames. 

Edward was very near crying and just about managing not to. He glanced round the table. "Sorry." 

Le Vesconte met his eye with a questioning look, as well he might given the vast amount of unsaid things in that argument. But Edward couldn't explain himself without incriminating himself, so he looked away. 

There was a long silence. Eventually Fitzjames lounged back in his chair, "So Dundy, any plans for when we get back to England?"

"That rather depends on what the Navy decides to do with us, doesn't it?" Le Vesconte smiled at Fitzjames. "But I suspect that even in the best outcome, this is the end of my naval career. So home to family at first, and see what I can find for myself. I think I'll write to my cousin in India. Moving somewhere perpetually warm seems very enticing." 

"I wonder how many mosquito-ridden summers it will take you to repent of that," said Fitzjames. 

"What about you, James?" said Le Vesconte. 

"Presuming the Navy forbears from either hanging me or clapping me in irons, going to my cousin's in Cambridge. Then, I suspect, changing my name and growing some very unflattering facial hair, and trying to find some sort of employment that is not desperately dull." 

"I think I might like some dull employment," said Jopson with a smile. "Where nothing unexpected happens." 

"Sure we can find you some references who aren't in complete disgrace," said Blanky. 

"Are you going back to family too, Tom?"

"I'll visit my brother. I don't think he'll have room for me to stay very long though."

It took all of Edward's self-control to not look at Jopson - Tom, if they were all being on first name terms now - and not to blurt out something stupid. 

"I presume you'll be back to your family too, Mr Blanky."

"Aye, there's a chair by the fire with my name on it. Once I’ve evicted the bloody cat from it."

"And you, Francis?" said Fitzjames.

Crozier shrugged. "I'll see what happens."

"Well, I am sure that there is space at my cousin's for you as well. Edward?"

"Probably home. And once my father and brothers have eventually noticed that there is someone extra at breakfast, they'll likely find some way of getting me usefully out of the house again." 

"Not a warm welcome then?" said Blanky. 

His honesty about his family had surprised himself, but having said that he might as well continue. "My sister and I were something of a surprise, and since our mother died bringing us into the world, not a particularly welcome one." 

"I didn't know you were a twin, Edward," said Fitzjames. 

"Some people believe some very odd things about twins, so I don't usually tell people." Tom knew, of course he told him, truths whispered in the dark. 

"So why not go to your sister?"

"There would be a warm welcome there, but no bed. I think I prefer a poor welcome in a house with beds to spare." 

"You say house," said Fitzjames, "but it is Amvale Castle, isn't it? Your father is the Earl of Borchester, yes?" 

"It's much more a house than a castle." He realised he sounded defensive, but it really was. Well, it was actually an unplanned mess of wings and additions in every architectural style of the last four centuries, with attics and cellars filled with four centuries of family clutter. 

"Sounds like the opening of a dreadful gothic novel," said Le Vesconte, "Naval officer comes back from the Arctic to a cold family castle." He smiled. "Any pale maidens in ivory nightdresses wandering the battlements by moonlight?"

"Not that I had noticed." 

"Seems you shall have to look elsewhere for your supply of pale maidens, Dundy." said Fitzjames. "Are you planning on taking a stock with you when you move to India?" 

That was enough of an opening for Fitzjames and Le Vesconte to start reminiscing about times in warmer climes, which was a relief. He could let their words wash over him, and try and not think about either the recent past or imminent future. 

\--

That night Tom sat up in his bunk, the only light coming through the slats in the door from the lamp left burning by the table, hugging the blankets around his knees. He could have predicted that time alone would make Edward turn in on himself, to list all of his real and imagined faults. What he wanted to do was to go and talk to him, reassure him, at least try and get him to not talk his way into a noose at the Court Martial. But he also knew that would mean a temptation that he was very bad at resisting. 

He had been beyond angry when Edward suggested leaving the sick behind. Betrayed. But if rescue hadn't been coming... 

If rescue hadn't been coming, they would all be dead. Better to die together. 

Had he known that then? He wasn't sure. 

He could remember his anger, but it was distant. Thinking of it didn't make him feel angry at Edward again. It was more... pity? Yes. Pity for his misery, his desperation, his being so far from anything he understood. 

Loving Edward didn't mean that he was blind to his faults. Just aware that they often weren't as bad as Edward thought they were. 

There was a tap at his door, barely loud enough to be heard above the noise of the ship. He pushed it open, knowing already that it would be Edward standing there. 

Edward slipped into the cabin, barefoot and dressed only in his nightshirt. He shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bunk, managing not to look at Tom at all. Tom moved to sit next to him. 

When Edward eventually spoke it was barely above a whisper, low enough that it wouldn't be heard over the general noise of the ship, even if there had been someone listening at the door. "I'm so sorry. I can't even start with everything I need to apologise to you for-"

"Then don't start."

That was enough for Edward to actually look at him. "But-"

"I was angry. When you said about leaving people, I could have punched your lights out." Tom sighed, not able to find the right words. "I- we're both alive. I'm not angry." 

Edward looked at the floor again. "A man... a man hopes that if he is tested he will find himself a hero. It's quite another thing to find that one is an abject coward."

"Is that how you think of yourself?"

"How could I think otherwise? When that... thing came into our camp, I froze. When I should have stood by every man, I wanted to leave behind the men who couldn't keep up. You- you did everything I didn't do. Everything I should have done." Edward looked at him with such a startling expression of sadness and love that Tom wouldn't have been able to speak if he'd wanted to. "I meant it when I said you were twice the officer I was. You're the best man I've ever served with." 

Tom swallowed. "Don't go saying that where the Captain can hear you." 

Edward looked back at the floor. "Sorry." 

There was a long silence before Tom said, "I remember you telling me, after we buried Sir John, how scared you were. That you'd known you might be killed by the sea, killed by an enemy, but that didn't scare you because you knew what you should be doing. You were scared because it wasn't what you knew." 

"Fine thing for a Discovery Service officer to be scared of the unknown." 

"But you kept going out there. I lost count of the number of times you walked between us and the Erebus, all the time knowing that thing was out there."

"That was orders."

"You could have sent another officer. You never did." Tom took his hand. "It was months like that, and you kept going. You think you broke easy. I don't think you did." 

Edward squeezed his hand. "And I think you're too used to looking after people to tell me the truth." 

"Do you really want me to tell you the truth?"

Edward looked straight at him. "Yes."

"Fine. I think you were a bloody idiot to volunteer for the Discovery Service, and the Navy were bloody idiots to accept you. You want things done properly. All ordered right. They should have put you to planning and supplies, things like that. For that, you're a good officer." 

"Thank you." There was heartfelt gratitude in there. "I volunteered because I wanted to be the sort of officer the Discovery Service wants. Just ended up showing I'm not the officer I wanted to be."

Tom put his arm around Edward's waist, pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "Ever think that the officer you wanted to be would never have got on his knees for his captain's steward?" That got Edward to look at him, less than an inch away. "So I knew that a long time ago." Tom leaned in and kissed him. He intended it to be reassuring, gentle, and it started out that way, but got heated, until they were holding each other so tightly that it hurt. 

Edward was the one to break the kiss, to say breathlessly, "We shouldn't do this." 

"You're right." 

It was Edward who kissed him, desperate and fierce, before pulling back again the barest inch to say, "We can't do this, it's too dangerous."

"I know." He knew and he was achingly hard and didn't think either of them could stop now if they wanted to. 

He kissed Edward again, pulled him sideways down onto the bed, breaking the kiss only to pull the covers over them both. He wasn't going to be cold ever again if he could avoid it. When they kissed again he pushed Edward's nightshirt up, oh yes, naked under it, hard in Tom's hand. Edward's hands were pulling up his nightshirt, less direct, hands running along his hips and back, pulling Tom so he was on top of him. 

It wasn't kissing now, just open mouths against skin, on neck, on shoulder, as he thrust against Edward's hot cock, Edward meeting him, pulling his hips down, spreading his legs for him.

"Please-" Barely breathed, hot in his ear, "More."

"That what you want, in England? I should bugger you?"

Edward pressed into him, mouth open in a silent cry as he came, and that hot spill felt so good, that it was only a couple of moments before Tom was coming too. 

He held him close, not that there was much choice on a bunk this narrow. 

"Would you?" Edward whispered. 

"Say it."

There was a long pause. "I can't."

Tom kissed him on the forehead. "Sure the doing is more sinful than the saying." 

"I know. I just..." The silence hung there. 

Tom roused himself to sit up and pick up a washcloth to clean them both up, before holding Edward close again. Skin to skin. Feel him breathe, warm, alive. Edward nestled into the crook of his neck, and Tom just let his eyes drift shut for a moment. 

There was a loud laugh from outside. He opened his eyes immediately, but it took a few moments for his brain to catch up. Edward was warm in his arms, but the dim night light through the door slats was now bright, and there were voices at the table. Fuck. They had fallen asleep, and now the others were just outside, and there was no way to either avoid them or explain things. 

Edward looked like he might be sick. 

Tom pulled him into a hug and whispered into his ear, "Don't you dare try and take the blame this time." He pulled back, kissed him gently. "Face them together, but get dressed first." He smiled. "Always try and face the worst with your trousers on." 

"All right for you, this is your cabin."

"It's two steps to yours. They'll be too shocked to do anything, trust me. You'll have time to get dressed while they're working out what to say." 

Edward looked doubtful, but stood up, pulled his nightshirt down as far as he could, took a deep breath and opened the door, darting out and shutting it behind him, the next moment the sound of the opening and shutting of Edward's cabin door. As he'd predicted, there was a shocked silence. 

He dressed carefully but quickly. He knew he should be scared, or at least worried, but he felt almost elated. He stepped out of his cabin and took his seat at the table, ignoring the stares. He had just picked up the teapot when he heard Edward's cabin door open. Edward slid into the seat opposite him and looked fixedly at the tabletop in front of him. Tom calmly poured himself a cup of tea, then did the same for Edward. 

It was Le Vesconte who broke the silence. "It's bad enough to indulge in unnatural vices, but frankly revolting to parade that one is doing so."

"Not to mention," said Fitzjames, "that if one is a prisoner awaiting trial, suicidally stupid." 

Fitzjames did have a point there. 

Edward, not raising his head, mumbled "Sorry." 

"Didn't mean to fall asleep." said Tom. He knew he was being insolent, and knew that was just going to get their backs up further, but that feeling of elation was still there and he couldn't stop himself. 

"And is that all you're apologising for, Mr Jopson?" said Crozier. 

"Yes." He met and held Crozier's gaze. Falling asleep had been stupid and he'd disappointed his Captain by getting caught again. That was worth being sorry for. Nothing else. 

Fitzjames sighed. "I am not minded to get anyone hanged, but more selfishly, I think that reporting this would reflect badly on us as well. Tainted by association." 

Le Vesconte nodded and said, "Some contrition from one of the parties involved would be appreciated though." 

Tom looked at Le Vesconte. "I won't apologise for what I'm not sorry for." Not here, not now. He'd walked through hell and lived, and he wasn't going to be sorry for being himself ever again. 

"Not even scared of the judgment of God now, Jopson?" said Le Vesconte sharply. 

"He'll judge all of us, and I know He'll find things to judge you for as least as much as me." 

"Are you suggesting-"

"I think," said Blanky with more than a hint of a smile, "that he means more 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone' than suggesting that you might have been getting cozy with one of us."

"Even so, there is such a thing as degree-" said Le Vesconte. 

"Of which I am certain a tally is being kept," said Crozier. "On the earthly side, you two will keep to your own bunks, and if you are not in sight of at least one of us you are not together, understood?"

They both nodded, but as they did so, under the table Tom moved his leg so it was hooked around Edward's, heel stroking down his calf. After a moment Edward mirrored the gesture. 

\---

Two days later James was sitting next to Francis on Francis' bunk. The cabin was small enough that he had propped his feet comfortably on the wall opposite and looked rather like a letter 'V'.

"I should be taking more care of where I put my boots," said James, obviously seeing Francis looking at his unusual seating position. "But I find myself ill-disposed towards everyone involved in this operation. Obviously you and I need to face a court martial, we knew that, but the other officers? Treating the men as prisoners as well?"

"We are at the wrong end of some politics, and if they keep us isolated, we can't find out what politics."

"Undoubtedly true, but not reassuring."

"I was in command. When it comes down to it, I take full responsibility. For whatever it is they are going to try and convict us of."

"You will not, because I won't let you."

"No. The Admiralty will be looking for a head to roll, and mine is the most obvious. Let them hang an Irishman and they'll have had their blood-"

"No! I will not watch you hang, Francis. We both live, or we both swing."

"You're getting to be a stubborn idiot."

"I'm getting excellent tuition."

They glared at each other for a short while, before James said, "I have come to the uncomfortable realisation that we have just had the argument that we stopped Edward and Tom having over quite a different offence a few months ago."

Francis had been thinking the same thing, but hadn't said anything as he doubted James would care for the comparison. "You did say that was loyalty and honour, two things that you have never shown any lack of."

"Hmm. Those two remain a worry." James tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Some little more continence and it would not have been our problem at all."

"And if you were such a man in such circumstances, would you have been patient?"

James opened his eyes and half-smiled at Francis. "I would have made damn sure I didn't get caught."

Francis smiled back. "I don't doubt it. But their reactions certainly are... interesting." 

"Is that what we are calling it now?"

"We are none of us the same men as sailed from England. Some of us are more changed than others. If I had asked you two years ago, you would have said that Edward was cautious and Tom deferential, and... they still are, but they also are not. So, yes, interesting is what I'm calling it."

Also interesting, though not something he was going to share with James, was that the events of two days previously had caused a degree of introspection, and a realisation that his affection for James was not entirely platonic. He respected him as a fellow captain, valued him as a friend - and was now uncomfortably aware that he genuinely felt a flutter in his chest whenever James smiled at him, and that any thoughts of a sexual nature featured James. 

He'd already known, as soon as it was clear that he was going to be blamed for the failure of the expedition, that he was going to end his connection with Sophia. It would be lunacy to consider marriage - sharing his name would damn her, and damn any children before they were even born. But now he was also sure that the affection he'd had for her had neatly transferred itself to James. 

It must be a product of the situation they had found themselves in. Isolated, flung together. It wouldn't last when they were on land, and he would just have to ignore it until then. Or if he was going to be truly honest with himself, to enjoy the warm feeling he got from the fact that James still came to him to discuss things, so he could savour this time alone with him. 

James had been staring into space for a while before saying. "I certainly am not the man who left England. I sometimes feel so far from him that I don't know who I am."

"Maybe not so far as you think, and that is not a slight. It may have been powered by vanity, but he was brave, someone who men were proud to follow, and many other things."

"Perhaps that is it. The outer hasn't changed as much, so you don't see as much of a difference, but the motivation has changed, so I feel much more changed."

"I hope I have changed for the better."

"I think that not only have you changed for the better, but I am better able to appreciate qualities that I dismissed before."

"Meaning I'm still a miserable pessimist, but you now know I'm often right."

\---

James had meant it when he had said that Edward and Tom were a worry. Not merely in the most obvious way, but they had brought to the fore some rather unsettling thoughts of his own. Thoughts which had been there, bubbling under the surface, ignored and pressed down. 

He didn't just want Francis as a friend, a brother, but wanted him in his bed. His filthiest, most erotic thoughts now only ever involved Francis (and of course various accoutrements, starting with silk sheets and a roaring fire). 

He was going to blame it on the scurvy. It must have done something significant to his head to make him this attached to a grumpy, constitutionally melancholic pessimist. And objectively, Francis was not handsome, certainly not compared to anyone James had been attracted to before. But now he kept finding things about him to find attractive. The man had a lovely smile, when he chose to use it, and quite delightful eyes, and - yes, scurvy had done some truly terrible things to James’ head. However, he remained self-possessed enough to ignore those feelings, and treat Francis as friend and colleague. 

Right now his concern focused on Edward. James had suspected that time alone would have affected him worst of all the surviving officers, and he had certainly been on edge when they boarded. But since his little exposé, Edward had been slowly folding in on himself in melancholy. For himself, James would have thought that being caught in the worst sort of in flagrante twice and getting away with only the mildest of reprimands would be cause for celebration, but this was obviously not the case for Edward. 

They were six days into the crossing, and today, the same as yesterday, Edward had appeared for breakfast, dressed neatly, not looked at any of them (and wouldn't even look at anything close to Tom), ate almost nothing, drank almost nothing. When they spoke about the upcoming Courts Martial, if he said anything at all it was completely self-abasing; a personal index of failures and self-reproach. 

James was now almost certain that Edward thought he deserved to hang, and was going to ensure that he did so. That was bad enough, but he may end up hanging all of them. 

Various strategies had been tried. Positive chivvying, counter-examples, pointing out actions which no officer would have done differently, pointing out any positive qualities - all of them bounced off him, until they ended up like this again, sitting in uncomfortable silence as Edward looked blankly at the surface of the table, and Tom stared at him as if he could stare his way through the cloud of melancholy. 

Blanky gave a meaningful look to Francis, who raised an eyebrow and looked at James. Yes, indeed, time to raise the stakes. He wasn't sure what Blanky planned, but he would go with it. He gave a very slight nod to both Francis and Blanky. 

"Edward." The slightest inclination of his head indicated that the man had heard Blanky. "I know you're determined to get yourself hanged one way or another, but are you sure you want to get your Tom hanged as well?" 

That got Edward's attention, his head snapping up to look at Blanky, horrified. 

"I mean, the rate you're going at, you're going to get the lot of us hanged," continued Blanky, "but you might just be able to give a damn about him." 

Edward looked between Blanky and Tom, horrified expression still in place, before saying, "I- I- I would never- never condemn any other officer-"

"Oh, but you do. You stand up there and say the things you've said about yourself around this table - Frank left you in charge of a whole ship, James didn't do a thing to challenge that. Look like a pair of bloody incompetents. The sort who might get near a hundred men killed when a halfway decent middie would have saved them."

Edward was pale, and James was impressed. Blanky had the knife in to the hilt at Edward's vulnerability and was twisting it like a surgeon. And he hadn't even finished yet. 

"And as for your Tom, he's better at hiding his feelings than you, but they're still going to see that he thinks you're a good man. And that makes him an incompetent idiot-"

"No!" 

There was silence around the table. Edward held Blanky’s gaze for a few moments, now flushed rather than pale, before saying hurriedly, “If you will excuse me,” and equally quickly standing and leaving the table.

James had a very nasty thought about self-slaughter, a thought which must have been shared by Francis as they were both standing out of their seats simultaneously. Tom was faster though, standing and grabbing Edward by the waistcoat.

“No.”

Both James and Francis sat down again, but watchful, prepared to intervene if needed. 

Very little was happening. Tom was gripping a handful of Edward’s waistcoat so hard his knuckles were white, and both of them were staring at each other.

It was probably beholden on them to say something helpful, though he was damned if he could think of anything. He glanced at Francis, who raised an eyebrow in the equivalent of a shrug, showing that he had no more ideas than James had. 

Blanky stood up and rolled his shoulders. James was expecting him to say something blunt and to the point, but the man actually turned suddenly and decisively shoved both Edward and Tom into Edward’s cabin, the element of surprise meaning that both men practically fell into it. Blanky then shut the door, and said “And don’t either of you think of coming back out until you’ve sorted yourselves out.”

Blanky sat back at the table with an expression that suggested he thought this was a job well done.

Dundy’s expression was one of deep disgust. “Really, putting those two together-“

“If you think anything like hanky panky is likely to happen, you’re a bloody idiot.” Said Blanky evenly. “And I didn’t see you come up with any better ideas.”

Dundy’s expression soured further, but he didn’t say anything.

James had been feeling a gulf growing between himself and Dundy for a while, and this was just showing how deep it now was. He tried to keep things as they had been, but he felt the distance. He wasn’t expecting the man to turn round and condone sodomy, just recognise that their necks were on the line.

He glanced at Francis to confirm that they were thinking the same, then said, “Expediency is the watchword when one is trying to save one’s neck, Dundy, rather than rectitude.”

Dundy sighed and looked at him. “Just how expedient are we going to get?”

“Having nearly lost it, I find that I am rather attached to my life. I honestly don’t know what I would tolerate to save it at the moment.”

Dundy smiled ruefully and half-laughed. “You know, if someone had come to me out there and said the price of safety and a ticket home was three weeks’ close confinement with two unrepentant sodomites, I’d have probably said “only two?” He paused. “I’m thinking as if we’re home and dry, and we aren’t until we all walk out of that Court Martial free men.”

“And you are more likely to do that than I.”

Dundy’s smile was warmer this time. “Well then. Pragmatic permissiveness it is. At least until we are indeed home and dry.”

Conversation returned to safer topics. He would have liked to know exactly what was going on in Edward’s cabin, but the weather was becoming decidedly stormy, so even if he did have the indelicacy to put an ear to the door he wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Looking through the door slats would be an option… curiosity and politeness had a brief tussle, and politeness won.

But time wore on, and soon they would be disturbed to have supper brought to them. After a glance to Francis, he stood up and went to the door of Edward’s cabin. He knew he should just knock on the door, but couldn’t quite resist looking in first. The two men were sitting on the bunk, arms circling each other’s waists; Edward had his head on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom was resting his cheek on Edward’s head. Both had their eyes closed, but the embrace was alert.

James had the most sudden, heart-rending need to be held, deeper than any desire he’d ever had for sex or romance. He had to mentally shake himself to take a step back, knock on the door and remind the men inside what time it was.

He patted Dundy on the shoulder as he came back to take his seat at the table. “Nothing to frighten the horses.”

“The morals of horses these days can be awfully lax.”

It was a few minutes before Edward and Tom emerged, looking composed. Edward glanced at Tom before saying, “I, ah, should apologise for my behaviour over the last few days. I have been unforgivably selfish- “

“Oh, sit down and shut up, lad,” said Blanky. “Just remember that you’re probably only half the idiot that you think you are, and think about who else you’re dropping in it when you drop yourself in it.”

And that was, apparently, all that was needed to return them to an even keel. They talked again about the Courts Martial, and whenever Edward started to drift into self-flagellation he would abruptly stop himself. This was accompanied by a glance towards Tom, and James suspected that Edward would have very bruised shins by the time they reached England.

\---

They still weren't allowed any contact with the outside world in Portsmouth. Nor had they been told when the Court Martial would be, or even the charges against them. They'd been a week in a miserable cold cell, during which they'd rather joylessly welcomed in 1849, and Edward wondered if this was some misguided attempt to get them to turn against one another. If it was, it was by someone who'd never been in the Arctic. If they had been going to turn on each other, they would have murdered each other years ago. 

He was lying on his bunk counting the cracks on the ceiling when a shout of "Lieutenant Little!" had him standing by his bunk before he had quite registered the words. A Marine sergeant and two Marines were standing by the cell door. The other four had stood up as well, not knowing what was about to happen. 

The door was unlocked and Edward was led out on his own. Interrogation again, presumably. He was led along corridors, doors unlocked in front of him, until he finally was ushered into a room and-

He stopped dead. Time had been rewound. His sister and brother-in-law were standing there, just as they had been on the station platform when he had caught the train that would take him to his ship, Ella big with child and looking worried, Douglas with his arm around her. 

The spell was broken by Ella uttering a broken cry, then racing across the room to hug him. He hugged her back, awkward because of her size, and realised that she was sobbing. He closed his eyes and just held her, deliberately not thinking of how much he had missed her so he wouldn't cry in front of his guards. 

She eventually composed herself and loosened her grip. "Edward, I am sorry, I had promised myself that I would not make a scene. But I don't think I really believed you were alive until you walked through that door." She smiled weakly at him. "You look awful."

"Better than I have been." He smiled at her and held her hands, glancing down at her belly. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. As are all the children. Hector arrived a month after you left."

It was more a sense of duty that made him ask after his father and brothers. "And father? Charles and Victor?"

Suddenly Ella looked horrified. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

She seemed lost for words, and glanced towards her husband, who said gently, "Charles died of fever six months after you left. Victor, his wife and your father were killed in a railway accident nearly two years ago. You are now Earl of Borchester." 

He looked at his sister, open-mouthed in shock. 

"But how could you not know? I didn't just write to you, I wrote to the navy officially because we didn't know which port you'd arrive in-" Her eyes suddenly blazed with anger. "They chose not to tell you. Just like- they told us we could not see you. It's not just us here - Lieutenant Le Vesconte's brother is in Portsmouth, and Commander Fitzjames' cousin, and Captain Ross, and one of Captain Crozier's brothers has come all the way from Ireland, and they've let none of us in." She put a hand on her belly. "I will admit that I begged the most human-looking of them, that I must see my brother before my confinement, and even then I was not sure I would be admitted." 

"Thank you," he could feel tears forming, blinked to hold them back, "You have no idea how happy I am to see you." 

She hugged him again. The Marine sergeant said, ""Time to be moving on." 

"Douglas?" She turned to her husband, who had picked up two piles of parcels tied together with string. "Fresh uniforms for the Court Martial for all of you, made up from your last measurements at your tailors, so they may be over-large. I am to pass on apologies to Mr Jopson as we did not have his measurements and Captain Ross and some of his shipmates had to guess, and- well, I have to hope it has the semblance of fitting. Cakes from ourselves and Commander Fitzjames' cousin. And our deepest best wishes." She hugged him close and whispered in his ear, "Captain Ross says that even if it seems like all in the court are enemies, you do have friends and they are working hard for all five of you." 

Then he was ushered out of the room, carrying his parcels. A short walk away he was taken into a side room, all the parcels opened and inspected, cakes cut in half and scrutinised. There had been letters enclosed with both cakes and uniforms. Those were removed, but the rest roughly re-wrapped and given back to him. 

He was still dazed when he arrived back at the cell, the door locked behind him. He told them what his sister had told him, missing out that his father and brothers were dead. He told them Ross’ message via his sister as well. 

"I would had paid good money to see that lot try and guess your measurements for a tailor," said Blanky to Tom. 

Crozier smiled. "Like anglers arguing about the size of the one that got away."

Tom was looking at the uniform doubtfully, then smiled. He held up a small fabric pouch that had been put inside the jacket; inside were needles and thread to match the uniform. 

Blanky laughed. "Looks like the tailor had as much faith in their abilities as we do.”

Meanwhile Fitzjames had been opening the other parcels. “Oh, look Dundy, seed cake, cuz will have baked that for you." 

Edward sat on his bunk. He looked through the package with his uniform in it, vaguely registered that it was all there. 

He looked at the floor. His father and brothers were dead. They had been distant, but not cruel, not even deliberately unkind. All three had projected such robustness that even though Charles and Victor were much older than him, he had presumed they would outlive him. 

He didn't know how long he had been sitting thinking when Tom's gentle "Edward" broke through his thoughts. He looked up to see all four of them looking at him. 

"I don't think you told us everything your sister told you," said Crozier. "Not that you have to, but it seems to be playing on your mind." Crozier’s expression was gentle, an invitation to talk rather than a demand.

"My father and brothers are dead." It didn't even seem believable when he said it. 

"I am sorry," said Fitzjames, and Le Vesconte and Crozier echoed his condolences. "When did this happen?"

"Nearly two years ago. Charles not long after we left." He didn't think that he deserved all this attention. "We weren't close. It's just- you know that things are going to have changed when you come back, but at the same time you expect that everything will be the same." 

"I think that to volunteer for the Discovery service one has to be the sort of man who can at least pretend to himself that his loved ones are immortal." said Fitzjames. 

"Perhaps one also has to be the sort of man who has at least a sliver of belief that _he_ is immortal." said Le Vesconte. If someone else had said that it might have seemed pointed at Fitzjames; but the way Le Vesconte said it was wistful, melancholy. 

Edward didn't think he'd ever been that sort of man. He'd volunteered to prove himself, but also to get back to sea, to a routine that he understood and kept him busy, rather than fermenting in his own thoughts. 

And now? That routine he understood had collapsed around him, the Navy were at the very least going to dismiss him, and he'd lost the cold certainty that his father, or at least his brothers would always be there- 

He was hit in the head by a screwed-up ball of parcel paper, thrown by Tom. 

"Stop thinking. It’s bad for you." said Tom. 

"Is that expression thinking?" said Le Vesconte. "I'd always assumed it meant the fires under the boilers had gone out."

Edward had picked up the ball of paper, intending to throw it back at Tom, but at that turned and threw it at Le Vesconte. Le Vesconte ducked, so it hit Fitzjames instead. Edward froze as Fitzjames picked up the ball. 

"I am inclined, Dundy, to say that you deserve to have this thrown at you, but of course dignity forbids-" In a lightning-fast movement Fitzjames grabbed the neck of Le Vesconte's shirt and managed to shove the paper ball down his collar before Le Vesconte could react. 

Le Vesconte dived for Fitzjames, and then they were a flailing mass of arms and legs on the floor, each trying to shove a now very squashed lump of paper down the back of each other’s' shirts. 

Tom had swiftly moved both clothes and cakes out of range as soon as this started, and Edward decided to retreat to an upper bunk for safety. 

Crozier shook his head slowly. "A credit to the Navy, acting like overgrown children."

Fitzjames and Le Vesconte paused long enough for Fitzjames to point at Tom and say, "He started it."

\---

It shouldn't have surprised Tom that his brother had gone to sea. No close family left in England, and a brother in the Navy - but Alfie had never shown the least inclination to the sea. Perhaps it had seemed the best option he had. A lot could happen in four years. 

That was why he headed - not home, he didn't think he had one of those any more. But to family, to find out all the things that had happened. He had no idea what the reaction would be when someone did recognise him. Of the five of them at the Court Martial, it seemed that he'd got the least blame in the papers, but there had been plenty to go around. They'd been smuggled out of Portsmouth, barely a chance to say goodbyes before going their separate ways. To his relief, his cousins welcomed him with open arms; family and neighbourhood had decided that this was all the Admiralty’s fault before they even knew he was alive. Everyone wanted to hear his stories and tell their own, whether crowded in his cousin’s kitchen or in the pub.

He ended up sleeping in the chair by the fire in the kitchen, having refused a space in a shared bed as everyone else had work to do and he didn't. 

Over the next few days it was made clear that he'd be welcome to stay (obviously if he was earning and paying his way, of course), and there wasn't any blame or judgement for him here. But he didn't think he wanted to. He knew where he wanted to go - or more accurately, who he wanted to go to - but how would that even work? It was far-fetched enough two men of the same rank making a life together, but an Earl in a castle? 

He'd written to Edward as soon as he'd had the chance. The first reply was little more than a scrawled note, almost illegible, obviously written quickly to make the post - "Please visit", and the name of the nearest train station and directions. The second reply came in the second post the same day, a much longer letter in Edward’s usual slow and careful hand, that he shouldn't feel obliged to visit in any way, though it would be much appreciated, though Tom would of course want to spend longer with his relatives, but it would be very nice to see him - and so on. He couldn't help but smile as he read it. 

He checked the train connections and wrote to Edward telling him which train he'd arrive on.

He told his cousins that he was going to stay with a shipmate, but not which one. 

It was gently snowing as the train pulled into the tiny country station, and he saw Edward as soon as he stepped off the train. In a long brown riding coat, just as darkly handsome as the first time he'd seen him, it was a rush of the same uncomplicated want that had made him throw caution to the wind in the first place. 

They shook hands and Edward said, "Transport is a bit unconventional. The brewers' dray got untethered, slid down the ice and smashed into the bridge. There's a longer way round for a carriage, but it's not certain in this weather," he ushered Tom out through the platform gate, "so there's Maisie." Edward gestured to a very large horse, tethered placidly to the fence. 

"You know I can't ride-"

"If you could ride, I would have brought a second horse." He untethered the horse and swung himself into the saddle, bringing her the few steps to a mounting block. He held out a hand to Tom, who stepped up and then onto the horse behind Edward. "It's just like keeping your balance at sea, I promise." 

Edward urged the horse forwards into a slow walk. As long as they didn't go any faster, he probably wouldn't fall off. Of course, he could cling to Edward, which wouldn't be a bad thing except that they were in public and he wanted to preserve at least some of his dignity. 

"There's a ford near the house, not good enough for a carriage but fine on horseback. There are stepping stones too, and it's quite a short-cut to the station. But I guessed that you wouldn't want a walk in the snow. Maisie normally pulls the dray, so I thought she'd be better able to carry two."

"You brought the biggest, slowest horse so I wouldn't fall off."

"I really don't want to drop you in a snowdrift or icy river." 

They passed slowly through the village, few people obviously about, but he knew that they were being watched. The new lord of the manor would be being thoroughly judged, and being judged as extremely eccentric. Edward's plan was very practical - the least time, people and effort to bring him from the station. It was also completely, absolutely wrong for the lord of the manor. What he should have done was take a carriage the long way round, with two extra servants at the back to dig it out all the times it got stuck. He was sure that none of this would have occurred to Edward at all. 

Not long after they left the village they turned onto a bridle path, the snow lying thicker the further they went. Soon the only signs of life were the hoof prints from Edward's journey in the opposite direction. 

Tom looked around to be absolutely sure they were alone, then squeezed Edward tight. "I've missed you." 

Edward squeezed his arm. "Missed you so much."

Pressed together like this, he didn't want to release his grip, and Edward's grasp on his arm hadn't lessened. Edward pulled on the reins and the horse turned into the woodland next to the path. A short way into the woods Edward dropped off the horse and virtually lifted Tom out of the saddle and onto the ground, pushing him against a tree and kissing him. Tom laced his fingers into Edward's hair, kissing him back like his life depended on it. 

Then Edward was unbuttoning his trousers, and before Tom could even do the same for him, Edward was crouching in front of him and taking his cock into his mouth. The cold air, then the heat of Edward's mouth was almost enough to make him moan, and that was before Edward started to use his tongue. There was no finesse to this, no teasing, just a need to get their release as fast as possible, before anyone could find them. He didn't need much encouragement, and soon he was coming, Edward swallowing as he did. 

They had done this often enough that it was a practiced move to switch positions, to be tucking himself back in and fastening his trousers as he crouched and took Edward's cock into his mouth. He knew what Edward liked, and wasn't going to draw this out. Edward's fingers tightened in his hair as he came.

He stood back up as Edward rebuttoned his trousers, drew him in for another kiss. He nearly jumped out of his skin at a huff from beside them, but as he stepped back instinctively he realised it was only the horse.

Edward laughed and patted it affectionately on the muzzle. "Sorry, Maisie. Not quite your usual, is it?" 

Tom was silently proud that he managed to get back on the horse without any step to help, and that he was in no danger of falling off at any point, even on the relatively steep downhill to the river. He even managed to get off the bloody thing without completely losing his dignity, though he had to be helped by one of the grooms. 

As they walked inside, Edward was talking about the house, but Tom was more interested in watching Edward. He was fairly comfortable here, but he didn't act like the master of the house; still in the role of younger son. 

"I'll show you the rest of the house tomorrow, but I usually stay in this wing. I know I should be in the newer part, but this has lower ceilings and smaller rooms, so it's warmer." Edward had dismissed the butler and footman and was leading Tom upstairs himself. "There's a morning room downstairs that I've made my study, and the small dining room is close by-" 

He was only half-listening. Perhaps to Edward this was homely, but to him it felt sinister. The walls were covered in wood panelling so dark it was practically black; the furniture was the same, all obviously old. Dark curtains at the windows and portraits of stern and disapproving people completed the picture. 

"I'm told that when they first built this wing, there was no corridor. You just walked through one bedroom to get to the next one. This corridor was put in later." Edward opened a door, ushered Tom through. "Your room." He shut the door behind them. "But they didn't take out the doors connecting the rooms." 

"And where would your room be?"

Edward pointed to a door in the corner of the room. "When I first arrived I was very clear that I didn't want anyone coming into my room in the morning, and my door would be locked until I rang for someone. Said that I didn't like surprises." Edward looked away briefly. "Which is true. Um. So. If you wanted." 

Tom briefly squeezed Edward's hand. "Tonight." 

Edward practically glowed at that. "Come downstairs, the study will be the warmest." 

The study was just as dark and sinister as everything else, but had an out of place pair of bright and comfortable armchairs and a settee, and it was warm. Tea arrived, and they talked comfortably, idle speculations about what mutual friends and acquaintances were doing, how their families were (Edward had a new niece, called Diana, and both she and his sister were well), both avoiding talking about the Court Martial or the expedition. 

The small dining room was not Tom's definition of small. The table could easily seat ten. Edward must have guessed what he was thinking and said, "I'll show you the formal dining room tomorrow." 

It still felt ridiculous for the two of them, though the food was good. 

After dinner they talked in the study some more, before going up to bed. The ever-present servants followed them to their rooms, and Tom realised that as a guest of an Earl he would be expected to have someone dress and undress him. It felt wrong to be on the receiving end of this, and it took a lot of effort to let the man do his job and not tell him what he was doing wrong. 

When the man finally left, Tom walked to the door and locked it, before going to the connecting door. Edward had unlocked and opened the connecting door by the time Tom reached it, and practically jumped on him, slamming him into the doorframe with a desperate kiss. It was automatic for Tom to kiss him back with the same intensity, pull him tight against him. It was only when Edward’s hands started to push Tom’s nightshirt up his thighs that he broke the kiss and pushed him slightly away. Edward looked confused and slightly hurt.

Tom cupped his face with one hand. “We have _time_ , Edward.” He smiled. “That is, if you did lock your door…”

Edward gave him a withering look. “Of course I did.”

“I recall you promised me a bed.” He moved his hand to Edward’s nightshirt. “And I think you should take this off as well.”

Edward mirrored the gesture, “If this comes off too.”

Tom gently pushed him away, and pulled his own nightshirt off, dropping it on the floor. Edward’s lips parted, and he seemed frozen, staring. Tom gently pushed in him in the direction of the bed. “Nightshirt off, get on the bed.”

“Er- oh- yes.”

The curtains had already been pulled around two sides of Edward’s bed, and the covers turned down. Edward pulled his nightshirt off and lay on the bed, naked, hard, watching him, and Tom hadn't wanted anyone more than he wanted Edward in this moment. 

He crawled onto the bed, deliberately slowly, drinking in the sight in front of him, settling next to Edward. He reached out, laid his hand flat in the centre of Edward's chest, feeling how his heart was racing. Edward put his hand over Tom's before moving in to kiss him, and they pulled each other close, bodies flush.

Tom kissed along the line of Edward's whiskers, up to his earlobe, sucking on it, before whispering, "Think you can ask for what you want now?"

Edward pulled back to look blankly at him. 

Tom cupped his face with his hand. "I asked if you wanted me to bugger you."

Edward's lips parted, pupils dilated, but otherwise he seemed frozen. 

"Can you talk at all?"

"Yes! I- I want-" Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I want you to bugger me." He opened his eyes again. "I er, haven't done this often."

Tom knew that meant "I have never done this before", but didn't see any point saying this, instead kissing him.

"Any wool grease? Lamp oil?" 

Edward rolled out of bed, and fetched a jar from the bottom drawer of a dresser, coming back to bed and handing it to Tom. 

Tom pulled the covers over them, kissing Edward while keeping the jar in one hand, hoping to warm it a little. 

"Turn onto your front." 

Edward rolled over. Tom started by gently brushing the hair away from the nape of his neck, before kissing him there, just at the hairline. He felt Edward just barely shiver at the touch. He kissed down the line of Edward's spine, all the way to the curve of his arse. He opened the jar, while kissing across Edward's arse. He warmed a lump of the grease in his hands and stretched back to lie alongside Edward. 

He kissed him on the cheek. "Relax."

He slid a greased finger down Edward's crack, gentle and slow, before sliding it inside, watching Edward silently react. He pushed his finger in deeper, found what he was looking for by Edward's intake of breath. He rubbed over it, loving how Edward squirmed, obviously trying to get friction for his cock at the same time as pushing backwards on Tom's finger. 

"More?"

"Please." Edward sounded hoarse and wrecked already. 

He slid a second greased finger inside him. He should take it slowly, but his cock throbbed, and Edward was spread for him. 

He pressed into Edward's side and whispered into his ear, "I can't wait, I want-"

"Please, god, yes, Tom, please-"

Tom greased his cock, hand almost shaking as he did. He got between Edward's legs, positioned himself, and pushed gently in. Edward stifled a moan as Tom's cock breached him, and Tom paused, this tiny contact almost more than he could bear. He made himself breathe regularly, before pushing in more, slowly. Edward pressed his face into the pillow, muffling his moans. 

Fully inside him now, Tom laid himself on Edward's back, kissed his earlobe and whispered, "You feel so good."

Edward's only response was an incoherent noise. 

Tom started to move, meaning to be slow and gentle, but finding that he was fucking Edward hard, hands gripping his hips. Edward made little noises, sometimes intelligible as 'more' and 'please', so he knew he wasn't hurting him (or if he was, it wasn't unwelcome). 

Edward tensed with a cry he muffled into his pillow, tightening around Tom's cock, and it was too much for him, coming harder than he had in years. 

He pulled out, flopping onto the bed next to Edward, who rolled onto his side to draw Tom into a hug. They were both sticky with their release, sweaty, and practically stuck together, but Tom didn't give a damn. 

"Thank you."

Tom chuckled. "I don't feel very put out."

"Not very put out?"

"I could have laid there while you buggered yourself on my cock."

There was a tiny shiver from Edward which he noted for later. He could feel Edward's breathing deepening, and while falling asleep like this was tempting it would be unpleasant in the morning. He moved to get up, and Edward mumbled "Let me", and started to sit up. 

Tom gently pushed him back onto the bed, "Not sure you can walk right now."

He dampened a washcloth, the water cold, and brought it back to bed, cleaning the both of them up. As he was putting the cloth back he noticed that the topmost shutters on the windows were open, and moved to shut them. 

"Leave them open."

Tom came back to the bed, slid in next to Edward and reached to close the last curtain around the bed.

"And leave that half-open." Edward didn't look at him as he said, "It's so I know where I am when I wake up." 

Tom remembered that the first time Edward had been out doing weather observations in the sun he had got snow blindness, and had spent three days in his cabin with his eyes totally bandaged. 

He blew out the lamp and took Edward into his arms. "Tell me."

"The first night I was here I closed all the shutters, the curtains around the bed, everything to be warm. When I woke up, there was only darkness and the sounds of wind and snow. I thought I was back..." He didn't finish the sentence, but squeezed Tom tightly.

Even sleeping in the kitchen at his cousin's, while he'd technically been alone, the walls had been thin enough to hear the sounds of other people. He couldn't imagine being alone with just the sounds of the weather outside. 

He stroked a thumb down Edward's neck. "I was asleep in a chair at Bessie's when her bell rang. Must've happened to me a dozen times before, waking thinking that it's the captain's bell, and being at least half up before I realise I'm ashore. Every other time, before we went to the Arctic, all I felt was annoyed that I had been woken. This time- just that moment of thinking I was on the Terror- I was frightened. Frightened more than I ever was when I was there. Strange to be more scared when I'm safe." 

"I think it's harder to fight ghosts and memories than something real in front of you." 

"Much happier with something solid to shoot at than a ghost." He paused. "This house isn't haunted, is it?"

"Since I only slept at most two hours each night I've been here, definitely not. I think I would have welcomed a headless Cavalier as better than what was going on inside my head." 

Tom kissed Edward's forehead. "So go to sleep now. I'm not going anywhere." 

\---

Edward was very deliberately not smiling. If he went from looking slightly worried all the time to grinning like an idiot then people would ask questions. He did want to grin like an idiot though. To wake with Tom in his bed, naked against him, with no-one looking for them, a locked door between them and the world, to be able to touch- he had to stop that train of thought otherwise he would be hard at the breakfast table. 

But- he didn’t know if Tom would stay. The idea of him leaving hit him like a physical pain in his gut. He had thought of a way that Tom could stay without causing comment, but he didn’t know what Tom would think of it, and it was something that needed to be discussed alone.

Well, at least he knew he was back to looking worried again.

But he also had no idea what to say over breakfast. The only things he could think of were totally inappropriate anywhere anyone else might hear. 

Fortunately Tom came to the rescue. "You said you would show me the formal dining room today."

"Oh, yes. I should show you the rest of the house. You might want to get a muffler, or perhaps a coat. It's warmer than outside, but only just." 

They finished breakfast, wrapped up, and Edward fetched the iron ring with the huge bunch of keys that should open at least most of the doors in the house. 

Tom looked at the keys. "Is this a house or a Bridewell?" 

"I think it's to stop new servants getting lost. Um, or as lost." 

"But you know where you're going."

"Ella and I ran wild in the house when we were children. I think there might be attics only the two of us know about." 

He led the way, through the newest part of the house first, all big, cold high-ceiling-ed rooms, then the older parts. As he got to the parts that were rarely opened he found himself looking for childhood treasures he hadn't thought about for years. Given that no-one in the family ever threw anything away, he wasn't disappointed. Everything from a strangely tarnished mirror to sheaves of letters in unreadable handwriting in a dustcloth-covered desk. 

Halfway across a dusty attic, Tom stopped him, took his face in his hands and kissed him. "You're like a boy."

Edward blushed, realising how childish he had been. 

Tom kissed him again and smiled. "It's nice. It's the longest I've seen you when you haven't been serious." 

Edward took Tom's hand. "I think I remember where there's a cannon with a lion's head."

He pulled Tom along, and Tom laughed, and he couldn't help but kiss him. That was how they ended up almost running from room to room, hand in hand, like a pair of giggling children, exchanging kisses in every corner where they couldn't be seen from outside, until it all became too heated and they sprawled on the floor of a long-forgotten room, sucking each other's cocks. Then they were back to chasing through rooms again. 

They finally got to the top of the oldest part of the house, the part that really was a castle, battlements and all. The snow had stopped for a while, the view clearing a little. 

Tom leaned his arms over the battlements. "Is all this yours then?"

"Most of it. It feels ridiculous somehow. To own all that. But a lot of things that used to make sense to me don't make much sense anymore." 

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Going to give it all up, live as a hermit?"

Edward shuddered. "I don't ever want to be cold or hungry ever again. If being ridiculous stops that, I'll take being ridiculous." He paused and looked at Tom. "I... can we talk inside?" 

Tom looked questioningly, but followed him back down the spiral stairs to the room at the top of the tower. Edward pulled the dust cover off an ancient bench, checked that it wasn't about to fall apart, then pulled Tom to sit next to him. 

"I don't like feeling like a spare part. I started looking over the estate books, to actually take some control, but- I never expected this. Never paid attention. I need some help. And if you- if you wanted to stay, um, I would- I could, um, employ you as my secretary, a decent salary so if you ever wanted to leave you could."

"I’m not going back to being your equal when we’re alone and your servant when we’re in public. I did that for too long.”

"I hoped- I hoped I had been treating you as an equal all the time you’ve been here."

"But up until now you haven't been paying me." He leaned in and kissed Edward. "I won't be your kept woman." 

"Never. I- you understand people. Much better than I do. I need your help. As equals. Always." Edward kissed him. 

"In that case, I accept." Tom leaned back. "Are you ready for some advice and hard truths?" 

"No, but you should tell me anyway."

"You are a terrible Earl."

"That I knew."

"But you don't know why, do you?" Edward shook his head. "An Earl on a carthorse."

"Oh come on, that was for a very good and practical reason-"

"But you should have been impractical. But that counts as eccentric, and you've been lost in the Arctic, you're allowed to be eccentric." Tom paused for a moment. "It's like being a Captain. There are different ways of being a good Captain, but there are a lot more ways of being a bad one." 

Edward took Tom's hand. "I can't think of anyone I would trust more to tell me what makes a good Captain. I hope you can make me a good Earl." 

\---

There was enough moonlight to see by tonight, but here under the trees there were deep pools of total darkness, one of which Tom was currently standing silently in. This was as much about listening as seeing, picking out the noise he was looking for among the usual noises of the night- and there it was, a twig cracking under what could only be a boot. He shifted his grip on the shotgun slightly, and waited for them to come a little closer.

Lifting his gun, he stepped just out of the shadows. “You’ll stop right there.”

The figure did stop and turn, left arm draped with a brace of rabbit and pheasant, right holding a shotgun. The man squinted at Tom. “You be that sailor as don’t know his place, come down from the big house.”

“And you’re Ezra Grundy.” Tom nodded at the brace of rabbit and pheasant. “And you know as well as any round here what the new arrangement is. Locals take for the pot, we’ll pretend we don’t see. But taking to sell, that’s different. I know what you’ve taken this week, Ezra. Ain’t enough Grundys to eat all that.”

“And who be you to tell me that, sailor?”

“Sailor with a gun pointed at you.”

“Don’t scare me. Things is how they is. Touched in the head the new lordship might be, I’s thinking he don’t know what you’s got going on. You’ll be gone in a month and all will be back to how should be.”

“I know exactly what’s going on, Mr Grundy.” Edward stepped out of the shadows a few feet off to Tom’s left, gun up and pointing at Ezra. “And if I am, as you say, touched in the head, you should be worrying about my trigger finger.”

Tom didn’t take his eyes off Ezra, but could see Edward out of the corner of his eye and there had been no hint of uncertainty in either his voice or gun arm. The effect on Ezra was just as pleasing, the confidence melting away to genuine fear.

“Your lordship, your father never did mind no-one taking rabbits, rabbits is vermin they is-”

“I can tell a pheasant from a rabbit.”

“Yes your lordship, I- er-” The man was obviously out of excuses.

“This is your warning, Ezra Grundy,” said Tom. “For you and all of your family. You only get one warning.”

“Yessir.” Ezra’s eyes darted to Edward. “Your lordship.”

“Go home,” said Tom firmly. With one final panicked look at Edward, Ezra sprinted away through the woods.

Tom lowered his gun, and Edward did the same. Tom smiled at Edward. “We should go home too.”

They walked in silence, but Edward wore all his emotions pinned to his sleeve, and he quite radiated how pleased he was. Good. Lesson had been learned.

At the house two sleepy footmen let them in and took their coats; Edward told them to go to bed, that they would put the guns away themselves and dress themselves for bed.

He didn’t miss that Edward locked the door to the gunroom behind them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Edward kissed him as soon as they’d unloaded their guns and put them on the table to be cleaned in the morning. There was nothing subtle or chaste about this kiss; Edward had one hand in his hair, the other on his arse, pulling him so they were rubbing against each other.

“You like going out hunting poachers in the middle of the night?”

Edward flushed slightly. “I liked watching you.” His eyes dropped. “I like seeing you in command.”

“Oh do you, Mr Little?” Christ, the look Edward gave him went straight to his cock. “And what should I command you to do?”

Edward swallowed. “Bend over for you. Get on my knees for you. Anything.”

“Tell me _exactly_ what I should do.”

Edward’s eyes were wide and dark. “Bugger me over the table. There’s gun oil in the drawer. Please.”

Saints themselves couldn’t resist an invitation like that. “Take your trousers down and turn round.”

Edward did as he was told, as Tom got the oil out of the drawer. He pushed Edward’s shirt up, and started to work oil-slick fingers inside him. As usual, Edward was all impatience, pushing back on his fingers, pleading. Even as filled with want as he was, he wasn’t going to do anything that would make Edward regret his daily ride out to go and worry about a different part of the estate tomorrow. And just seeing how much he could do to Edward with only his fingers…

It was only when he couldn’t stand waiting any longer that he slicked his cock and pushed inside Edward, deliberately slowly. This never stopped feeling so, so good, and like every time his intentions to keep things slow and teasing dissolved in about five seconds. Fortunately, the table was solid and heavy enough to deal with him fucking Edward hard. 

He pulled Edward close to his chest with one arm, so he could kiss him as they fucked, reaching round with the other hand to tug on Edward’s cock. Edward moaned into his mouth then arched back as he came. A few of moments later he was coming too.

Edward was leaning back against him, head lolling on Tom’s shoulder. Tom kissed him lightly. “We have a _bed_.”

“Too far away.”

He squeezed Edward tight, and Edward made a contented noise into his neck. They were still stupid, weren’t they? Acting like they had a single night of shore leave, when he’d been here nearly three months. Three months of clean sheets, three hot meals a day, a warm comfortable bed, a fire in the grate without worrying about how much coal he was using. And three months of this, of doors they could lock behind them and not being able to keep their hands off each other.

It was all too good to last.

They pulled themselves together, wiped down the table, and headed towards bed. They alternated whose bed they slept in – an unoccupied room was obvious, and neither of them wanted to sleep alone. He’d only had one nightmare since he had been here; Edward had had two. Edward had woken shaking and shivering, covered in gooseflesh. It had taken a long time to soothe him enough for the shivering to stop. Tom’s nightmare had been on board a frozen Terror, dark, abandoned, alone. He’d woken as he pushed open the door to the great cabin, and had terrifying moments of disorientation after he woke. Edward hadn’t woken, but still rolled into his arms as soon as Tom touched him. He had pressed his face into Edward’s neck until he could feel his pulse under his lips. Not alone, and alive, both alive.

Tom changed into his nightshirt and slipped into bed; Edward joined him a few minutes later, blowing out the lamp before cuddling into him.

“Tom… I know that you didn’t need me tonight. It’s- training me, isn’t it? If anyone found out about us, so we could disappear.”

“Just in case.” Tom kissed the top of Edward’s head. “If you can take rabbits and the like, keep moving, know how not to be seen, no reason why anyone would find you.”

Edward sighed. “I wanted to keep you in fine food and feather mattresses.”

“Keep me?”

“You know what I mean. Give you all the good things.” Edward paused. “I think- yes, there is a way. People don’t know your face. If you take some monies that we say have been spent on some frippery, go to a town no-one knows you, set up an account at a bank as Mr Smith, rent an out of the way cottage and tell a solicitor to look over it as you will need it only rarely. We could disappear and reappear as two different people.” Edward kissed Tom’s shoulder. “Still a feather mattress, less fine food.”

“It’s the company with the mattress as is important.”

\---

Francis was reading a long letter from Thomas, who had found work as shipping agent in Liverpool and seemed to be fed up with everything associated with this, and using letters to Francis to vent his frustration. James was sitting in another armchair, reading the newspaper. James' cousin was in London, and his cousin's wife had gone out to visit friends, leaving the two of them alone in the house. 

That was just about the only other thing in Thomas’ letters to him - jibes at the fact that he had been living with James and his family for five months now. Oh, he could make a reasonable case, that living with his own family would have been worse for gossip and spoiling reputations, but he was sure that Thomas knew him well enough to see through any of his excuses. Even so, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting what he really felt, especially in writing. 

It was ridiculous. To start desiring another man like that, at his age. For some reason this bothered him far more than the illegality, immorality, or the fact that it was utterly unreciprocated. 

He had hoped that being onshore again, in contact with other people would cure him. Then when that didn't work, he hoped that prolonged contact with James would mean that he would start being irritated by him again. That didn't work either. They had both mellowed, and all that had happened was comfortable familiarity without any lessening of desire. 

"Oh good grief!"

Francis looked up from his letter and raised an eyebrow at James. 

"A third inquiry! As if two weren't enough."

"Who other than the Admiralty and Parliament would run an inquiry?"

"Concerned members of the public, with Lady Franklin leading the charge and Mr Dickens in the vanguard. They are worried that the truth will be lost to vested interests."

"And of course, they have no vested interests of their own."

"Of course." James sighed and put the paper down. "It's never going to end, is it? I had thought that in perhaps six months we would be old news, and I could think about doing something with my life. But neither of us can walk into town without someone buttonholing us. And I think that we are wearing out our welcome here because of it." 

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who sees the negatives?"

James smiled. "You're a bad influence on me. But I note that you are not contradicting me." 

"Because you're not wrong."

"We can't do anything, we can't go anywhere, I can't think that any of our friends particularly want to host us as we are both infamous and without income, so we are rather stuck." 

"You have forgotten one person, though you might have objections." James looked blank. "Edward."

"Oh. Yes. How many of the men are now employed by him or one of the Borchester businesses? Six?"

"If you're not counting Tom."

"Well, no, I would not count that as employment." James' tone was disapproving. One of the many reasons that James would never find out Francis' true feelings. 

"We have an open invitation to stay. But I see that you don't want-"

"I honestly don't think that I can afford to be that choosy. My reputation is so bad that I doubt it can be made all that much worse." 

"Shall I write to them and say we shall be visiting?"

"Them." 

Francis paused, realising what he had said. "I'll write to Edward, but since whatever I write to one might as well be written to the other as well, 'them'." 

"It's odd, I feel more ill at ease that things like that may be going on under the same roof than I would if it were at sea. Even though I would be both physically closer, and the consequences worse." 

"Really? I find myself more forgiving on land than at sea." 

"I did say it was odd. And we were extremely forgiving at sea."

"I don't see how we could have done otherwise." 

"You could have let me reassign one or other of them."

"And lose either a good officer or a good steward?" 

"I would have let you have someone in return. Probably."

So Francis wrote to Edward, received a reply that they were both most welcome, and a few days later they were at Amvale Castle. Two footmen showed them to their rooms. 

"The other doors in the room?" asked Francis. He was used to rooms which had an additional servants' door, but not two of them. 

"Connecting doors to the adjacent bedrooms, sir, due to it being an older part of the house. His Lordship suggested housing you in the wing he resides in as it is the warmest part of the house, but he left instruction that if you were dissatisfied with this arrangement then I was to show you rooms in the East Range and New Annexe, to see if those would be more to your taste." 

"The room is perfectly fine, thank you. And the two rooms either side...?"

"Mr Jopson and Mr Fitzjames, sir." 

He could make an educated guess where Edward's bedroom was. 

He joined James in being led downstairs. 

"I have noted that the key to the door joining our rooms appears to be in your side of the door." said James. 

"I shall just have to resist the temptation to throw a pitcher of water over you when you are asleep." 

Tom and Edward were in a cosy sitting room downstairs, where overstuffed armchairs and sofas clashed horribly with dark wood-panelled walls. They all shook hands, gave the inane pleasantries about the journey and the weather. 

"I take it you've heard about Lady Franklin's inquiry." said James

"We thought that might have been what spurred the visit," said Edward. 

Francis was quite sure that Edward hadn't even noticed that he'd said "we" not "I", though Tom momentarily caught his eye, as if to say - I noticed that you noticed. 

James continued, "You would think that people would lose interest, but we are still infamous. I count us lucky that the worst we got on the way here was being elbowed by one woman who said 'shame on you'." 

Edward looked at Tom, "And you wonder why I don't want to go to London." 

"I don't think you're as infamous."

"I'm quite happy not testing that theory." Edward turned back to James. "You're both welcome to stay as long as you need. It's not as if we're short of space." 

"And if it gets very bad, we could re-fortify the castle," said Tom. 

"I thought you said it was more house than castle?" said Francis. 

"It is. There is a lot more house than castle," said Edward, smiling. "I can show you round tomorrow, if you don't mind a very long walk." 

It would have been a pleasant evening, if it wasn't for the growing feeling of envy that Francis was experiencing. He didn't think he'd ever seen Edward this relaxed, and the warmth and affection between him and Tom... he knew that it was a feeling that could easily twist into bitterness, and that was no way to repay their generosity. 

It was also clear that Tom had lost none of his skills in observation, which meant that it was only a matter of time before he worked out Francis' little secret. He'd just have to deal with that when the time came. 

\---

Tom was leaning comfortably against a wall in one of the below-stairs corridors, just out of sight of where the laundry maids were working, listening.

He checked on what all the staff talked about, but gave particular attention to the laundry maids and household maids. It wasn't just the condition that their sheets regularly ended up in, it was Tom's own clothes as well. That was one of the few things he and Edward had properly argued about. Edward had wanted him to have the same quality clothes as he did. He might as well have suggested embroidering a confession of their relationship across them. But as far as Edward was concerned, that was treating him as an equal, and it took at least two low-voiced rows to come to a compromise. So his underthings were the finest, butter-soft against his skin; the outer layers were less fine than Edward's, though much nicer than most secretary's clothes. But all the finishings, the buttons, any ribbon, anything like that, were what would be expected. Those were the things that people would notice. Except, of course, the maids, who knew what he wore under his suit. 

So far, nothing had been said to cause him worry. From his own experience, not thinking too hard about what you were doing was the best way to keep your sanity in a job like that. But that was no reason to get overconfident, so he was listening. 

"That Mr Fitzjames is a handsome one."

"Skinny." This was accompanied by a disapproving sniff. "Can't be doing with skinny men."

"Aye, but he must be a strong skinny one, to have survived all of that snow and that."

"They might have carried him."

"What, in a piggyback?"

"No, daftie, on a sledge or something." Another disapproving sniff. "Them navy lots are the real dafties. Stands to reason you want big hairy men for the cold, and none of these ones are."

"His lordship’s quite hairy."

"But he’s not _big_ and hairy." 

Tom pushed himself from the wall, and walked away. The maids should be reprimanded for talking about their employer like that, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face if he tried, and he couldn’t quite trust himself not to laugh if he stayed and listened. Unobtrusive, unnoticed, he listened in on the footmen talking about one of their cousins; then passed the kitchen, where all talk was businesslike. Finally happy that there was nothing mutinous or worrying going on, he headed for the butler's pantry. 

"Mr. Watkins."

"Mr. Jopson. What can I do for you, sir?"

"Nothing, just checking that nothing was amiss."

"Everything ticking along nicely sir. Though it would be helpful to know how long Mr Crozier and Mr Fitzjames will be staying." 

"Permanent residents unless you are told otherwise."

"Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you."

He climbed the stairs up to the main house, wondering if Edward and James would be back from their ride yet. He would be quite happy for James and Francis (and he had just about managed to remember to use their Christian names) to stay permanently if James would be Edward's riding companion. Tom was not going on a horse again if he could avoid it, however much Edward tried to charm him into learning to ride. 

Francis looked up as Tom came into the sitting room. "Edward and James are still out."

Tom nodded, picked up the book he had been reading and seated himself in one of the armchairs. He didn't think he'd be able to focus enough to read any of it. This was the first time he'd been alone with his Captain - Francis would always be that, no matter what - since the Arctic. Francis had chosen not to have him hanged twice, was here right now, but that all might be necessity. 

He was thinking like a daughter wanting a father's blessing for an unsuitable match, and he knew it. It didn't make him want Francis' approval any less. But it wasn't like he could ask for it. 

"How is your brother?" asked Francis. 

"Well, I think."

"You think?"

"He's said he is well in his letters, but if he's telling the whole truth in his letters he'd be the first sailor ever who did."

Francis half-smiled. "The Sidon's a good ship."

"I hope my name doesn't bring him trouble." 

"Yours was the least mentioned. I think it's a reasonable hope." There was a long pause before Francis said, "Are you happy here?"

The question took him by surprise. "Sorry?"

"Perhaps content with your position in the household might be a better way to put it."

"Yes. Extremely." It was better than he would ever have dared imagine. Not just love and sex (though he was very happy with those too), but being useful, having responsibility. He may have been neither fish nor fowl, neither family nor servant, but he'd used that to be the one person who could move between being those things as he pleased. 

"And Edward?"

"Am I content with him, or he with me?"

"Either. Both."

"More than content. I hope he feels the same."

"If appearances are anything to go by, he is besotted with you."

"Then why did you ask the question?"

Francis paused. "A lingering sense of responsibility, I suppose. To reassure myself that you are not being taken advantage of."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at that. Francis scowled at him, and Tom said, "Edward taking advantage."

"Not all men are as they appear on the outside." 

"No. Some have a grumpy outside to hide that they do feel affection for other people."

Francis narrowed his eyes. "And some are so sharp they might cut themselves." 

There was a long pause, then Tom said, "Do I still disappoint you?"

Francis looked surprised at the question. "I recall telling you that I valued loyalty and honour over Christian morality, though you are still bound to tell no-one else that. I'd lay good money that you were at least partly behind Edward employing men from the expedition who couldn't find work. I suspect that you run more of this estate than you'll admit to, and that you do that fairly and honestly. I couldn't be more proud of one of my officers."

Tom felt something bloom in his chest, along with the most enormous sense of relief. "Thank you."

"You're still an idiot for starting something like that aboard ship, doubly so for getting caught, and getting caught twice-" Francis shook his head. "I had thought the two of you cleverer than that."

Tom shrugged. He couldn’t explain his stupidity to himself, let alone anyone else.

There was another long pause, before Francis said, “Do I disappoint you?”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen a drop of alcohol here. Do you think that I’d drink again if I saw you drinking?”

“No. It’s…” Tom struggled to find the right words. “The alcohol was gone a long time before you arrived.”

Francis’ look was calculating. “For your sake, or for Edward’s?”

“Both of us.” He paused for a moment. “It always starts with one glass. Then it’s one more, and one more. It’s too easy, if it’s there when things are… difficult. For any of us.”

“Are we all that fragile?”

“Yes.” Like fine porcelain, which could take the heat of boiling water but could shatter at the lightest knock.

Francis looked speculatively at Tom. “But you know where the key to the wine cellar is and where the bottle of medicinal brandy is hidden.”

“Mr Watkins knows as well. Always a good idea to have someone else know where the medicinal brandy is.”

\---

It was quite a surprise to James how content he was with his current situation. He'd been slowly going round in circles with boredom at his cousin's and had been convinced that the same would be true in the countryside, just with more pleasant scenery. But the estate was like a landlocked island, far more concerned with its own internal affairs than things on the outside. That meant that for a very good radius around Amvale Castle he was mainly of interest as a guest of the Earl, not as a disgrace to the Empire. So he could go for walks, ride, without much worry that a stranger would want to assault him. 

He hoped Dundy would find the same in India. He would have liked to join him, but- James put a good face on things, but he knew his health would never be the same after the Arctic. He was fairly certain that his first tropical fever would finish him, so it was England for him from now on. 

Oh, he should stop trying to lie to himself. He wanted to be wherever Francis was. He couldn't imagine not being where Francis was. 

Whatever he had said about the matter, his discomfort about Edward and Tom was not about sex. They had set themselves up like a married couple, as blatant as they could be without courting prosecution, and seemed quite happy with the arrangement. That was the inversion of nature. Tumbling another man into bed was just another way of satisfying one's desires, and something that James had done on a number of occasions, but one did not fall in love with another man. 

Except that he had. 

"Penny for them?" asked Edward. 

James realised that he had gone into such a reverie that he wasn't quite sure where they were. Edward was riding to his right, and now looking at him curiously, and his own horse had obviously continued without his input while he was woolgathering. He managed to pull himself together. 

"Thinking about being content with boredom rather than adventure."

"Are you bored?" Edward looked concerned. 

"No, which is what I was thinking about. Not much changes here, not much happens. No adventure. If you had asked me five years ago, I would have said I would hate it. But I don't."

"Things do change. It's just they're circular, like the seasons, not linear." He pointed. "That dog rose is flowering, and it wasn't when we rode this path last week." 

"You seem to be in your element here." 

"But are you? I loved hearing your stories about China, about those adventures."

"I don't think I'm the same man I was then. A man has to have a certain drive to do those things. Perhaps something to prove to himself. I don't feel that anymore." He grinned at Edward. "Maybe I have ripened, or flowered like your dog rose. Though substantially less pink." 

They rode in silence for a while before Edward said, "Do you think Francis is happy here?"

"As happy as he would be anywhere. I think he feels he has to retain a little sourness to remain true to himself, but he is having to try rather hard to maintain that."

"We meant it when we said that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted."

"Or at least so long as Tom refuses to go within twenty feet of the stable block."

Edward smiled. "I can't see that ever changing." 

James looked at Edward and considered for a moment before saying, "Purely out of interest, do you know that you slip into the plural a lot of the time?"

"Sorry?" Edward looked baffled.

"Anything you have discussed with Tom, anything about the house or household. You always use 'we', not 'I'. You said ‘we meant it’ not ‘I meant it’."

"I did?"

"You did. And it's part of your usual expression."

"Oh. I should try and stop that."

"Though I would say that the odd plural is less obvious than correcting yourself. Draws attention."

"True. Thank you." Edward looked sidelong at James. "You seem much less concerned about that than you were previously."

"Context is everything."

"An Earl can do as he pleases, but other men cannot." Edward's tone was harshly sarcastic. 

"No. I- obviously such things on-board ship are not to be condoned at all. But on land... I find that familiarity is dissolving my objections." James sighed. "And ‘judge not, lest ye be judged’. I have enough to judge myself for, before I start on anyone else."

"What do you have to judge yourself for?"

James looked at Edward. The question seemed to be entirely genuine. "For not supporting Francis' judgement when he disagreed with Sir John. And... I could name twenty things I did or did not do which cost men their lives. I will carry that guilt. And then there are the things that other people blame me for, things which no man could have known or predicted, yet somehow I was supposed to. Yet to protest my innocence of those makes me sound as if I feel myself wholly innocent."

"I don't think any captain would have done better in your position." 

"My confidence overreached my experience, and I could not see that." He looked at Edward. "And if you dare lecture me about not blaming myself I will call you a hypocrite." 

"It's just- the gentlemen idolised you, on both ships. I know you are human, but you're still the officer other officers want to be."

"And there are just two of you gentlemen who are still alive. That's a bloody awful way for me to repay that." 

There was a long silence before Edward spoke. "I wondered for a long time why I lived and the others died. I wasn't the strongest, the cleverest, the best officer. I wondered if it was all a roll of the die, with no reason to it. But I couldn't believe that. I think that each of us that survived, survived for a reason. There are things God needs us to do."

"And what is that for you?"

Edward looked at him as if he considered the answer to be self-evident. "To look after the rest of you. With Tom's help, of course."

James thought of the two of them, Edward and Tom, in the castle chapel, side by side in the pew reserved for the head of the family. Still perhaps haunted by what they had experienced, but otherwise at peace with themselves and with God. 

"Any idea what my purpose is?"

"No. But I am completely sure that there is one."

Such certainty from Edward of all people was persuasive. But as to what his own purpose was, James had no idea. `

****

The moment Ella and her family arrived, Mrs Clark the housekeeper monopolised his nieces and nephew with such speed (and a very pointed remark about it being nice having children around the place) that Edward barely had the chance to even look at them. 

As Mrs Clark bustled off, Edward said, "Well, it's nice to see the two of you, even if we don't get to see the children."

"If she doesn't give them back before we leave we shall have a daguerreotype made so you know what they look like," said Ella with a smile. 

There were introductions, then pleasant conversation on the lawn (Ella even managed to keep Douglas' academic meanderings to a minimum), and it was all very civilised. 

After breakfast the next morning he asked for a word alone with his sister. 

In his study, Ella sat down on the sofa, and looked questioningly at Edward as he sat awkwardly at the other end. 

"I have been having some very long conversations with the solicitor. I had thought that the estate would go to cousin William, but apparently that arrangement was not renewed by Father, so it is mine to dispose of. The title goes to William, but everything else… I, er - I have made my will, and the estate goes to Hector, when he comes of age. There are the usual bequests to the servants and charity. Everything else is split between the girls and Tom-"

Ella stood up suddenly and walked to the window. 

"Ella? I am sorry I didn't discuss this with you before making the will, but-"

"You have no idea, do you?"

"No?"

"I have always known what sort of man you are, Edward. I saw you, when Uncle Edwin visited with his navy friends. You said you wanted to be like them. I think you just wanted them."

Edward felt pinned in place. He wanted to object, say that he had been a child, that thoughts of that kind hadn't even occurred to him until years later, that it hadn't been the men but rather their stories that had enthralled him. 

There was a long silence before Ella spoke again, not looking at him but looking out of the window. "I always hoped you would change. Perhaps the Navy would change you. But now you're here, set up with your sailor boy, and so unrepentant that you don't even expect me to care." She looked at him. "I should hate him, I suppose. But really, you couldn't have chosen yourself a better husband." He hadn't ever heard her sound so bitter. 

Edward stood up to face her. "I have changed. I realised what was important. I'm sorry to have caused you distress, but this is how it is."

"And when you're caught and disgraced-"

"I'm already quite disgraced. You can deny that I'm your brother. There's no shared surname to trouble you." 

"So what is this supposed to be? A bribe to ignore what you're doing?"

"What? Of course not! I now have a rather keen sense of my own mortality, and wanted matters fully planned for. I didn't want the content of the will to be a surprise to you if I did die. That's all." 

"At least Father is no longer around to see this."

"If Father were alive we would be living in cheap rented rooms somewhere far away from any of you and causing you no trouble, and probably no thought either." Now he was the one who sounded bitter. "Do you think that I am unaware of how I compare to him, or to Charles and Victor? Do you think that I have ever been in any doubt how much of a disappointment I was to all of you? I'm only a concern because I've inherited." 

Ella seemed taken aback by this. "You think this is all about money?"

"Only that you could happily pretend I didn't exist if I wasn't inconveniently head of the family." 

"You are my brother, and I care about you! I care about your immortal soul! I care about your reputation! I care about your future! Because you, apparently, do not!" She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. 

A couple of moments later, Tom stuck his head around the door. Edward was about to say something when Tom beckoned him. He followed Tom, upstairs to his own room. Tom locked the door behind him, then pulled Edward into a hug. 

Edward mumbled into Tom's shoulder, "I take it that means you heard everything." 

"Just checking that the maids had polished the keyholes properly." 

"Sailor boy."

"And a good husband. All very complimentary." 

Edward drew back, putting his arms loosely over Tom's shoulders. "Perhaps I misunderstood her. She may be upset because she thinks that you have married beneath yourself." 

"I don't think I have." Tom was leaning in to kiss him, when there was the sound of wailing. They both looked around for the source of the noise.

The wailing was coming from his left and... above him? 

He looked at Tom and pointed upwards. Tom, looking confused, nodded. 

Edward got the bunch of keys from the bedside drawer and strode out of the room, towards a small door tucked at one end of the corridor. He went through, followed by Tom, up a tiny staircase, into an attic, then along to an even smaller door that led out onto the roof. 

He looked around, and immediately saw the source of the wailing. At the far end of the roof of the wing the chimney had been augmented by two small girls clinging to the chimney pots. 

He climbed up to the ridge of the roof and walked smartly along it, Tom still following. Not running, running caused panic. And while it was a long way to the girls, they didn't look in any danger of letting go of the chimney. 

Finally, he arrived at the chimney. It had a short brick base, with two tall spiral chimney pots on top; the girls were standing on the base, clinging to the chimney pots. The arrival of help had diminished the wailing to quiet whimpering. 

"I presume you are Sarah and Alice." 

The girls nodded. 

"Which is which?"

"'M Alice."

"'M Sarah."

"And you know who I am?"

"Uncle Edward." 

Edward gestured behind him. "And this is Tom. We are going to get you down." 

Alice shook her head vigorously. "Will fall."

"No you won't. Do you know why?"

Heads shaken again. 

"Because we were both in the Navy. So we have climbed rigging taller than this and not fallen off." 

"Lots of times." supplied Tom. 

"So Sarah, you're going to let go, and I'm going to pick you up and pass you to Tom. Then I'm going to pick Alice up. And we're all going to go back inside." 

It was his best "this is an order" voice, and it seemed to work. Sarah looked doubtful, but loosened her grip, enough for him to pick her up and pass her to Tom. Alice was more trusting, almost jumping into his arms, then gripping so hard that he was sure there would be bruises. 

He turned and followed Tom along the roof and back downstairs. As they came down the last of the attic stairs, Ella rounded the corner onto the corridor at a run, Douglas only a little way behind her. 

He tried to put Alice down, but her grip on him was vice-like. Tom seemed to be having similar difficulties getting Sarah to loosen her grip. It was only their mother shouting their names which got them to let go.

Ella swept the girls into a hug, then turned around with them back down the corridor, starting what Edward suspected would be a prolonged lecture. 

She hadn't even looked at him. 

\---

Apart from the children on the roof, so far the day had gone exactly as Tom had predicted. Not that he had shared his prediction with Edward. It wouldn't have changed what he would have done and would just have caused extra worry. 

What he did do was take Edward down to the study, call one of the footmen to pass the message on to the guests that there was urgent estate business which would keep them busy for the rest of the day, and then try and persuade Edward to do something other than pacing up and down the room. 

The best he managed was Edward flitting between looking at accounts and stock books and pacing some more, which he would have to take as a partial victory. 

His prediction did mean that come lunchtime there just happened to be a large pork pie and accompaniments ready in the kitchen to be sent to the study. 

Not that Edward was in the mood for eating. Tom watched him take two bites, then poke miserably at the rest of the food on his plate. 

"You knew this was going to happen, and you didn't tell me because you knew I wouldn't change my mind but I'd worry." Edward looked up. "Cook only puts sage in the pork pie when you've asked her to make it." He pointed with his fork. "This was planned."

Betrayed by seasoning. 

"I'm not apologising for not telling you."

"Nor should you. It was very sweet of you." Edward sighed. "I just don't know what to do now." 

"It's not what you do, it's what she does. She has to decide what she's going to do." 

"I suppose so." 

"So do something to distract yourself. You were going to look at the geological maps?"

That seemed to work. Seeing Edward absorbed in something, Tom was ready to go and see what was going on elsewhere in the house, when there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in,” said Edward.

Of all the possible people to come knocking on the study door, Sarah and Alice were not the ones he was expecting. They were also suspiciously unaccompanied. 

"You should either be with your mother or Mrs Clark."

"Mrs Clark only likes Hector and the baby. They're boring."

"Tell us about being in the Navy, Uncle Edward. Please."

"Battles and storms and cannons. Please please."

"Your mother would not want you to be here."

"Why?"

"We are busy."

Tom cleared his throat. "I think that Mr Fitzjames may have some stories about being in the Navy."

Edward brightened at this. "Yes, indeed. Mr Fitzjames has much better stories than either of us." He rang the bell. "How did you get onto the roof anyway?"

The girls looked at each other, before Alice answered, "There was a loose window. We opened it and climbed in, and we went upstairs, and more upstairs, and there was a window onto the roof, and Sarah said I wasn't brave enough to go onto the roof and I said that she wasn't brave enough, but we were both brave enough, but then we looked down." 

"Where was this loose window?"

"Don't remember."

At that point the maid entered, and was instructed to chaperone the girls to James, and if he was busy, back to Mrs Clark. 

After the girls left Edward went back to what he was working on. Tom waited fifteen minutes, which he considered long enough for the maid to return if the girls had escaped, before standing and stretching, intending to go on his rounds in the house. 

Before he moved towards the door, Edward looked up and said, "Do you think your brother has guessed?"

"I doubt it. Remember he's much younger than me, and we don't know each other as well as you and Ella do." Tom smiled. "Then again, for all I know, he's trysting with the Sidon's first officer as we speak." 

Edward's shocked expression was a picture. 

Tom laughed, "Now that does make you a hypocrite." Edward looked upset at this, so Tom walked around to perch on Edward's desk, facing him. "You convince yourself that you were the worst naval officer there ever was, so you think that you are the only one who ever had any of your weaknesses. Even you must know that's not true." 

Edward seemed to be searching for words, and Tom reached out to cup the side of his face with a hand. Edward leaned into the touch, then turned his head to kiss his palm. "I'd never done anything like that on-board ship before."

"Neither had I."

"Really?"

"Yes. I've seen what it can do, favourites and jealousy. Told myself I never would." 

"You seemed so confident."

"I was confident I'd found myself a hiding place in the hold if I ever needed to get away from everyone, and I was very confident that I knew what I wanted to do to you when I got you down there." 

The slight flush across Edward's cheeks, even after all this time, gave him a warm feeling in his chest, and a desire to do all those things again, right now. But there was far too much going on in the house, so he would have to be patient. Though he was still perched there, fingers soft in the hair on the side of Edward's face, not moving. 

Another knock on the door made him move to stand beside Edward. 

"Come in."

Ella walked in, followed by Douglas. 

"There are matters we need to discuss."

"Do we?" said Edward. "I thought I made myself very clear."

Ella looked at Tom. "This is a family matter, Mr Jopson."

"Which is why he stays." said Edward. There was a long pause. "Ella, if you leave today and never talk to me ever again, I won't change my will to disinherit your children. Who else would I leave the estate to?"

"Him." 

"I've never wanted to be lord of the manor," said Tom. If anything happened to Edward- he didn't want to think about it too hard, but he certainly wouldn't want to stay here. 

"So you have no concerns in that regard," said Edward.

Ella looked at Edward for a long time. "Do you have no concerns about your future? Your soul?"

"My future is here, with Tom. And do you think God had nothing to do with our survival?"

Ella seemed to fold, and dropped onto the sofa. Douglas sat next to her, and put his arm across her shoulders. 

Edward stood up and walked round the desk, to sit in one of the chairs; Tom took the other. 

"I am glad you are alive, I really am." said Ella. "I missed you every time you went to sea, and to think of how easily I could have lost you..." She took some moments to compose herself. "I just wanted..."

"Me to be someone else," said Edward, sadly. 

"But that's stupid, isn't it? I missed you, not someone else." She sighed. "You are my brother, Edward, come what may." 

Tom was watching Douglas, who had been taking even less part in the conversation than Tom himself had. Ella seemed to be taking it for granted that her husband would be in complete agreement with her. 

"So you will be staying?"

Ella looked at Douglas, who patted her hand and said, "As I said earlier, if Alexander may have his Hephaistion, or indeed his Bagoas, we may exercise toleration, may we not?"

Those last two names meant nothing to Tom, and the quick sidelong glance Edward gave him reassured him that Edward had no more idea than he did. 

"We will stay. And thank you for getting the girls off the roof."

\---

It was a relief that Edward's relatives had gone. Francis would admit that watching James having to deal with the increasingly intense devotion of Edward's nieces had been amusing. But outsiders brought with them a need to behave... properly. He couldn't have time on his own without question. They didn't know what topics of conversation were unwelcome. They didn't know- that was it, really. They didn't know. 

The four of them were having dinner in silence, with no-one trying to make small talk. This was followed by sitting around the fire in comfortable silence. He was sure that they would regain the urge to talk to each other again, but silence was what was needed right now. Wishing each other goodnight were the only words exchanged that evening. 

He was on the ice, which reared up in strange shapes around him. 

A scream. Another scream.

He ran, towards the screams, the ice twisting and changing under him, pulling him backwards as he tried to go forwards. 

There was a trail of blood on the ice. No two, three, four, more and more, all directions, and in each direction a scream, a cry for help, voices he recognised, voices of the dead-

"Francis! Francis!"

The threads of his dream wrapped him as he woke, so he at first saw James with ice and blood, before realising that he was in bed. No ice, no blood. James was kneeling on the bed, and he brushed a cool and soothing hand across Francis' forehead. 

"Are you back with us?"

He blinked a few more times to make sure his head was truly clear. "Yes. Sorry for waking you."

"You didn't. Couldn't sleep."

"Well, I don't think I shall for a while now." 

James seemed to take this as an invitation, and slid under the covers. Francis raised an eyebrow and James said, "Since neither of us are going to sleep, we might as well not sleep companionably. And my feet are cold."

"What's keeping you awake then?"

"The intrusion of normality. Or possibly more the realisation of how far I have slid from that state. It was... it was always something of an act. But I was comfortable, happy, at parties, spinning yarns in the Ward Room. Now I find I have to make an effort to do the same, even to entertain children. I wanted to remake my life, not the same as it was before, but something close to normality. I think that even if the world lost interest in us, I wouldn't be able to." 

"I would think that living here would demonstrate that remaking an abnormal life is one of your options."

James smiled. "Indeed. But I still would have preferred to re-join polite society." 

"I am trying not to be pleased at being considered impolite society."

"You liar, you are positively proud." James looked at him questioningly. "Do you get nightmares often?"

"No. I think it was the same as you - an intrusion of normality disturbing the peace." Francis focused on James. "Do you have embroidered frigates on your nightshirt?"

"I like this nightshirt, and you are transparently changing the subject, so you are not telling me the whole truth." 

Francis sighed. "I don't normally get nightmares as bad at this. Often not even nightmares, but dreams full of guilt. Remorse." 

James reached out and took Francis' hand. "Sounds very familiar." James looked away as he squeezed Francis' hand. "I am glad that you are here. Your impolite society is... very comfortable." 

Francis squeezed James' hand in return. "As is yours." He wanted to kiss James, draw him into his arms. But that would ruin everything. 

Francis wasn't quite sure how it ended up that James fell asleep in his bed, but it was more than pleasant to wake and find him there, relaxed in sleep. He looked younger, the lines that the Arctic had given him smoothed, and would have been really most handsome were it not for the fact that he had his mouth open and was dribbling into the pillow. 

James showed no discomfort or embarrassment when he woke, merely excused himself back to his own room. 

Two nights later as Francis was sitting up reading in bed, there was a knock on the connecting door. "Come in."

James came in, in his nightshirt, looking unusually awkward. "There is no way I can think to phrase this well, but I found that the night I slept in your bed I slept sounder than I had in-"

Francis wordlessly pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed. James smiled with relief and got into bed. 

"Though if I find I sleep more poorly with you here this arrangement will not continue."

"Of course."

"And that nightshirt is still ridiculous."

James snuggled under the covers, pulling them over the offending embroidery. "There. You shall no longer have to pluck out thine eyes over my choice of nightshirt. And I still like it." 

Francis humphed as James closed his eyes. 

He did sleep a little better with James there. Perhaps he registered another living person there as he slept. Perhaps he was just warmer. 

\----

James was, unacceptably, still in love with Francis. The situation should have resolved itself by now. Familiarity should have bred contempt. He should have got bored, as he had done with every previous romantic interest. 

It was also now practically an aeon since he last had sex, which was another thing trying his patience. Lovely and protected the estate may have been, but everyone knew everyone else, and if he was going to sow any wild oats the entire population within a ten mile radius would know before he had his trousers back on. Previously this wouldn't have particularly troubled him, but even considering Francis finding out made him uncomfortable. 

These things normally just produced a background level of dissatisfaction and a frequency of self-abuse that threatened to strain his wrist. However, this morning, as he was waking up, he had distinctly heard a surprised moan that could only have been coital in nature. Being forcibly reminded that he was close to people who were not just having sex, but he suspected having a lot of sex, had put him into a distinctly ill-humour. 

It had also meant that he had had to scuttle crabwise back to his own room from Francis' bed. Normally his nightshirts were voluminous enough to disguise any morning interest, but this had progressed beyond interest. Some vigorous self-abuse only slightly helped his state of mind, and seeing Edward and Tom at the breakfast table undid all of that. 

How dare they be having sex when he was not. 

His brown study did not go unnoticed, and he was sure that Edward's suggestion that they go out riding was well-intentioned, but he met it with such a glare that Edward visibly started. Which of course meant that he then felt that he had to accept the offer. 

Perhaps being out in the fresh air did help a little. 

They had been riding for a while when Edward said, "You don't have to tell me why you are out of sorts, but I will listen if you want to."

Edward was generally trustworthy, but he could also no more not tell Tom things than he could give up breathing, and that presented a significant risk of Francis getting to know. "I find I wish to keep my own counsel."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

 _Not using the bloody plural so I can stop thinking about the fact that you are having more sex than a rabbit on an all-oyster diet might be a start_ , but saying that would be impolitic. "Distraction seems to be the order of the day."

"How strong are you feeling? There is a fine gallop to be had towards Amhead Edge, and we could go up there to look at the view as well. But it is quite a distance and I don't want to-"

"I am feeling physically very well, Edward, and that sounds like an excellent plan." 

It was. The wind in his hair, the exhilaration of being at a full gallop, were things that took him out of himself. The slower ride up the wooded ridge was pleasant, and the view from the top excellent. 

It was only when they were half-way home that he realised that he had vastly over-estimated his stamina and was fading fast. He forced himself to keep upright in the saddle, and keep at least some conversation going. 

Edward looked at him with concern. "We can stop if you wish. I could leave you and ride home for the gig-" 

He was absolutely not going to be beaten. "Thank you, but no. I will be fine if we continue steadily."

He gritted his teeth. The distance home became interminable. Every pain he had in the Arctic was back, not as bad, but across his whole body. He found himself slumping forwards before righting himself. 

"James, you are going to fall-"

"No. I am quite fine, just a little tired."

Even through his pain and fatigue he still noticed that Edward was now riding as close as possible by his side. This was a ride he should be able to accomplish, and he would get home under his own steam. 

Seeing the house was a surprise, as it was so close that he should have seen it earlier, even as it swam slightly in his vision, and he made another effort to sit up in the saddle. Every inch of him ached, and fatigue fogged his brain-

There was a ceiling above him. A hand on his forehead. He was lying down. Facts arranged themselves - he was lying on the sofa in the sitting room. He turned his head, wincing slightly as the room twisted. The hand belonged to Francis, who was sat on a footstool by the sofa. Behind him Edward was sitting in one of the armchairs, with Tom standing behind him. 

"You look like a Baroque painting. Do I mean Baroque? The three of you form a very pleasing tableau. Possibly needing a dog on the rug."

Francis smiled warmly. "I believe you have over-exerted yourself." 

"Slightly." He tried to sit up, but the room swam. Francis and Tom propped him up on some cushions, and Francis presented him with a cup of tea. "Tea? Surely something stronger? Edward, as Earl you need to have a portrait. Even without a dog."

"Drink your tea, James," said Edward. 

James drank the extremely sugary tea, which made him feel somewhat better. "How did I get here?"

"Edward carried you. You passed out on your horse."

"Oh." He looked at Edward. "I am sorry."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suggested riding so far."

"I recall you asked if I felt strong enough, and offered to go home for the gig, so you have nothing to be sorry for." 

"Edward had been wondering about calling for the doctor just before you woke up," said Francis. 

"Oh, please no. I have no desire to be bled, purged or whatever seems to be in fashion this month. Lying here with tea will be quite sufficient." 

"We shall leave you in peace then." said Edward, and he and Tom left the room. 

James was pleased that Francis didn't go with them. "You don't have to tell me that I have been foolish."

"I will admit that I have been waiting for something like this to happen, but not because you are foolish - because you want to test your limits. What you can still do. I think you've been very restrained not to do so before now."

"As far as the riding is concerned, Edward has been coddling me. I think this only happened today because he was trying to get me out of my brown study." 

"And it could have been far worse." 

"I don't seem to have hit my head as I fell, which is fortunate."

"I was more meaning that Tom was extremely forgiving of Edward coming home with another man in his arms." 

James smacked Francis lightly in the shoulder, then said, "You know, he probably is apologising to Tom for that right now."

"I think that would be a safe wager." Francis looked at him calculatingly. "Are you going to tell me the reason for your mood this morning?"

"It's all very childish."

"We all are, at least sometimes."

"Simply that it is much easier to live a life of unintended celibacy if one is not in close contact with people who are doing quite the opposite." 

"I'll not disagree with you there."

"And I know that envy is quite the ugly emotion."

"I recall that you were hesitant to even come here because of the relations between those two, and now you're envious." 

James belatedly realised that he'd talked himself into a corner. "Yes. Well. They do exude such contentment." 

Francis raised an eyebrow, but James refused to be drawn. He pointedly drank the rest of his tea, and closed his eyes to nap. 

\---

This had been planned with the same attention as any landing on enemy territory. It didn't stop Edward worrying, but he was at least worrying less than he would otherwise be. 

Tomorrow he and Tom would give evidence to the parliamentary inquiry on the North-West Passage Expedition. The train they were on would get into London just before midnight, and they would get a hansom to the London house, which hopefully would mean the least chances of other people recognising them. A hired carriage to and from parliament. Then when the politicians had done with them, another late train home again. 

They had the compartment to themselves, so it was working so far. Though he couldn't focus at all on the book he had open on his lap.

"I told you that you wouldn't be able to read."

"I know, but I wanted to at least try to distract myself." 

"You're just left with my conversation. Or..." 

That particular smile of Tom's had its usual effect on Edward, but he felt beholden to make at least a token protest. "On a public train?"

"Lots of people turn the lamps down to sleep on late trains." Tom picked up a Bradshaw from his bag, and checked it against his pocket watch. "Twenty-five minutes until the next stop." 

Edward swallowed. "You did remember to wind that?"

"Of course."

Tom stood up, keeping eye contact with Edward as he leaned towards the first lamp and blew it out. Edward closed his book and put it on the shelf beside him. Tom leaned over and blew out the second lamp, and the compartment was in darkness. 

Edward felt Tom settle over him, one knee either side of his legs, before Tom was taking his face in his hands and kissing him. It was all sensation, Tom's mouth on his, his tongue, his hands, his weight against him, and the rocking of the carriage moving them against each other. He was soon hard, his cock aching against the fabric of his trousers, Tom pressing against him being both wonderful and torturous. They had time, in this moving darkness that felt a little like flying. 

There was a loud peal of male laughter from the next compartment, and Edward drew back. But Tom seemed encouraged by it, kissed him again with more fervour. 

Edward moved to whisper in his ear. "You like it. That there are people so close when we're doing this."

"I suppose I do." Tom sucked on his earlobe.

Edward nipped his earlobe in return. "Forbidden fruit."

Tom was undoing the buttons of his trousers. "But one I promise not to bite."

He felt Tom's weight lift from his lap, fingers reaching inside his trousers, and a moment later his cock was in the wet heat of Tom's mouth. Tom seemed in no hurry, almost lazily mouthing his cock. Edward shut his eyes, even though he couldn't see anything, abandoning himself to the feeling, fingers laced into Tom's hair. The movement of the train, Tom's tongue, all slowly built until he was gloriously releasing himself down Tom's throat, silent of long practice. 

The geography of a darkened train carriage was a little different to that of a ship's hold, but it was still easy enough to change positions, to find the buttons of Tom's trousers, grip his cock and take it into his mouth. The movement of the train had a rhythm, one he tried to match with his tongue and the way he sucked a little then relaxed. The way that Tom's fingers were digging into his scalp suggested that this experiment was working. Finally Tom pulled at his hair, a warning a moment before he came, Edward swallowing it down. 

He fumbled in the dark to make sure he was properly dressed again, then take Tom into his arms and kiss him again, then just hold him. 

"I have no idea what time it is."

"You want me to light the lamps again so you know we look respectable for the next station."

"Unless you can see your pocket watch in the dark." 

Tom sighed and stood out of Edward's embrace, lighting one lamp and then the other. He took his seat opposite again, and leaned forwards to murmur, "Still looking respectable."

"Good. So do you. But you always manage to look the most innocent when you are at your most debauched." 

Tom's smile alone was enough to make him blush. 

"I'll need to distract you with other things for the rest of the journey." said Tom.

"I do have a question for you. Francis and James- are they, err-"

"Say it."

"I don't even know what the right words would be. Intimate sounds like they are very close friends, which they obviously are. If I was to say, umm..."

Tom leaned forwards again, obviously amused, to say quietly, "Buggering each other."

"That's, er, rather detailed. They could be more than intimate and not necessarily doing that."

"I'll stop teasing, I know what you mean. But I don't know if they are or not."

"How can you not know? You know everything that goes on in the house."

"And at the times that I might find out you are usually keeping me very busy." 

"Even so. You're practically clairvoyant." 

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not." 

"You always know what I'm thinking."

"That's practice." Tom paused. "What am I thinking?"

Edward thought for a moment. "That your planned debauchery, for which I am quite sure you had already memorised this train's stopping times and had no need to look them up, has worked to distract us both, because even you are worrying a little about tomorrow. Wondering when you're going to use your next distraction strategy, which will probably be more respectable. And whether to eat the pork pie now or later." 

"So you're practically clairvoyant as well." 

When they eventually got to the London house, Mr Bridgens opened the door and greeted them with a wide smile. Closing the door behind them, he said, "Good evening sirs. Maid and cook have gone for the evening, just myself and Mr Peglar home. Your bedroom is made up, and there is a cold supper should you want it." 

They declined the cold supper and went upstairs. Of course, a second bedroom was made up, for appearances sake, but with just Bridgens and Peglar around there needed to be no pretence of retiring to separate rooms. 

He had thought he wouldn't sleep, but the journey and the sleepless nights before caught up with him and he was half-asleep as he got into bed, and barely remembered cosying up to Tom. 

The noise of a coal scuttle woke him in the morning, and he turned his head to see Peglar kneeling by the fireplace, building then lighting the fire. That was the downside of privacy at Amvale – always waking to a cold bedroom. Though the fire would be laid, and any chill from getting up to light it was _very_ easily remedied.

When Peglar was finished he stood up and said, "Mr Bridgens' compliments, asks if you gentlemen will be wanting help dressing?"

"No, thank you," said Tom. 

Peglar nodded and left, shutting the door after him. 

"I'm going to dress you." 

"You don't have to-"

"I'm going to, because this is important." 

Edward had been dressed by more people than he cared to recall, but never with this level of intensity. Tom half-dressed himself, then started on Edward with complete concentration, arranging everything from his socks to his cravat with the same precision. He wouldn't let Edward return the favour, saying that Edward hadn't had enough practice, but did at least let Edward arrange his cravat. 

Edward took both of Tom's hands and kissed them. "Thank you." 

"I only dressed you."

"Armour to face dragons."

"As long as you remember not to call them that to their faces."

He wished he hadn't thought of them as dragons. It might have made it a little easier. A committee of old men, easy to think of their wrinkles as scales, their glares as baleful serpent-stares. Not one of them with any exploration experience, not one of them a navy man, barely even any colonial service among them, and it showed. He found himself having to backtrack on his answers as they hadn't understood the most basic points. Explaining that no, they could not have taken double the amount of coal because then the ships would have sunk, was just one of many low points. 

And that was before it got personal. 

The accusations about his conduct on the Expedition were so well-worn, both in his own head and the Court Martial, that he could answer with complete detachment. The accusations about his recent conduct though- he could keep calm on the outside by thinking of the people whose opinions he did value, and gave polite and direct answers. Inside he seethed. 

Watching Tom be questioned was worse. 

He couldn't remember ever being this angry. He didn't dare speak on the carriage ride back to the London house, because he feared if he did he would lose control. 

Bridgens, obviously seeing his expression when they arrived, took their coats and beat a hasty retreat. 

He stormed into the sitting room, and just stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, fists balled, trying to master himself and failing. 

"How dare they! How- how _dare_ they!" He rounded on Tom. "How can you be this calm?"

"Because this was what I expected. The reputation of the Navy and the Empire has to be perfect, and the way they do that is by damning us. As long as there are people still saying that it was Admirals and Ministers making stupid decisions that meant we failed, they'll keep at it, throwing everything at us until something sticks."

"But to say that I only employed men from the Expedition to so they would not testify against the officers!"

Tom sat down on one of the sofas and sighed. "You did that out of Christian charity, because you're honourable, and you feel a duty as an officer. Do you think any of those lizards understand any of those things?" 

Edward slumped to sit on another sofa. It was afternoon, and though darkening the curtains were still open, so he needed to keep the temptation of touch beyond him. 

"It was worse watching them question you."

"Like I said, what I expected. That I'm above my station, I'm an idiot, I do exactly as you say, and the rest. Not nice, but not a surprise. I did worry that they might try and suggest something- well, something a bit close to the truth."

Edward's blood ran cold. "You mean-"

Tom half-smiled, "You think you're the first man to employ his lover as cover for what they were doing?"

"I... honestly, I'd never thought about it." 

"Lucky for us they didn't think of it either. But I think that Francis and James moving in is helpful. It just looks like you're running a home for distressed ex-sailors." 

Edward rubbed his eyes. "I think I might be, except I'm one of the distressed." 

"You'll feel better when you're home. Do you want to leave tonight?" 

"As much as I want to get out of London, I feel like I've walked twenty miles. Tomorrow night?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." Tom stretched. "Everything aches and I wasn't looking forward to a long train ride."

"Then you should have said that. Put yourself first, for once." 

"But if I make you think that what I want was your idea in the first place I can be selfish without looking it."

"I don't know if you're lying or devious or both."

Tom smiled. "Leave you guessing."

At the end of dinner, Edward said to Bridgens, "Mr Peglar and yourself are welcome to join us in the sitting room. You've made the place so snug I don't want to think that I'm throwing you out."

Edward saw Bridgens throw a quick glance to Tom, who said, "He really means all of that." 

"Thank you, sir. We will, once we've finished in the kitchen." 

He didn't curl into Tom as soon as they went through to the sitting room. He didn't think that the maid or the cook would come upstairs, but after today he didn't want to take any risks. What the sitting room did now have, as well as comfortable sofas, were shelves of books. He picked one at random and started to read. 

After some time there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in."

Bridgens hesitantly looked around the door. "You said that we could-"

"Please come in, I really meant it about not wanting to throw you out of your own sitting room." 

"Cook and maid have gone home, sir." said Bridgens as he walked into the room, closely followed by Peglar, who shut the door behind them. 

Edward put down his book, which had been quite dull, and put his arms around Tom, resting his head on Tom's shoulder and closing his eyes; after a moment he brought his knees up to curl entirely around him, not caring that it was probably the most undignified position one could occupy on a sofa. Tom squeezed him close. 

After a while of this, curiosity did get the better of him and he opened his eyes to see what Bridgens and Peglar were doing. They were tangled together on one of the other sofas, both apparently engrossed in different books. It looked simultaneously very comfortable and extremely uncomfortable, and made him feel better about his octopus-like position around Tom. 

A thought occurred to him – he had been meaning to look up who Hephaistion and Bagoas were to work out what on earth his brother-in-law had been getting at with that rather cryptic comment, but had never quite gotten round to it. "As you are both very well read, do you know much about Alexander the Great?"

Both the men on the other sofa looked at him and Peglar said, "I've read Arrian about Alexander. In English though."

"Just something someone said when they were talking about Alexander - who were Hephaistion and Bagoas?" 

"Hephastion was Alexander's closest friend from childhood. When he died Alexander asked an oracle if he could be worshiped as a god. Bagoas was a eunuch who was an advisor to Alexander."

"Are eunuchs the men who have their balls cut off?" asked Tom.

"Yes." Peglar’s expression was the very deliberately neutral one of a man who suspected that he was sailing dangerous waters but had no idea what the dangers were.

Edward looked up at Tom, who said, "I don't like your brother-in-law."

"You're presuming that I'm being cast as Alexander, and I really don't think that's a given with either him or Ella." 

"I still don't like him if he's calling you a eunuch instead of me." 

\---

Francis was trying to be sanguine about what was coming, but that really wasn't in his nature. Knowing what had happened when Edward and Tom had been summoned to parliament didn't help. The train they were on was moving through pitch darkness, so there was nothing to provide any sort of distraction. 

"You're brooding." said James. 

"What else am I supposed to do?" he snapped. 

"If you want to brood, brood. I would observe that it doesn't seem at all helpful."

Francis scowled at him. "What are you doing then?"

"Thinking of literally anything else. Failing to read this book. Considering if provoking you into a pointless argument is a worthwhile distraction for you."

"Humph." He paused. "Pointless argument on what subject?"

"Hmmm." James theatrically gave the subject thought. "One can judge the quality of an officer by the quality and method of the tying of his cravat."

"Too obvious, and I know you don't really believe that."

"If I pick something that I really believe in that you will argue against it stops being a pointless sporting argument and becomes a real argument, which is probably worse than brooding."

"Do you think there are important things that you believe that I would object to?" 

James looked genuinely thoughtful this time. "I'm not sure. That brooding is an ultimately useless activity?"

"Just because I do it, doesn't mean I think it's productive." 

"I suspect that now our differences are largely style rather than substance." James adjusted his cuffs to emphasise his point about style, then said, "Just how big is Edward's London house anyway?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"That it needs two caretakers."

"You're really asking that?"

"Yes?"

"Why would Edward and Tom employ two men to do one man's job."

"Oh. _Oh_." James paused. "Yes. Indeed. Well. I feel rather like a man who has reached middle age and only just found out that two and two make four."

"I don't think anything... non-regulation went on between them on board ship."

"Which rather suggests that your Captain of the Foretop was more intelligent than your First Officer."

Francis opened his mouth to object, then reconsidered. "In certain specific areas, yes."

"Though the men we're going to meet tomorrow appear to be immensely stupid in all areas, as far as I can tell. It's as if they'd never even seen a ship before, let alone anything else. I dread to think what they are going to suggest we were remiss in not doing. Possibly that we should have brought elephants to haul the ships across the ice."

"Oh, come now James. They'd be well aware that the Admiralty would never have approved the money for the overcoats and snowshoes the elephants would have needed." 

James laughed. "Sixpence says they come up with something more ludicrous than an elephant in an overcoat."

"I'll not lose a whole sixpence wagering against that." 

Francis had a moment of concern when they got to the house that James' newfound acceptance would not extend as far as Bridgens and Peglar, but he shouldn't have worried. James' greeting was effusive, followed with "And how is Mr Peglar?". 

Francis was sure that Bridgens actually blushed when he said, "Very well, sir." 

James didn't come through to join him after they retired to bed. Probably wise, as Francis knew he wouldn't sleep and would be liable to disturb anyone he shared a bed with. He did try and sleep, at least for a while, almost to show willing. 

Naturally, this didn't work.

He relit the lamp and stared grumpily at the ceiling. He just wanted to get this blasted hearing over and done with, but it was still only two in the morning. He knew he would be fine without sleep, having gone without on countless occasions because of storms or the like. He just wanted the time to pass. 

He picked up the book he'd put on the bedside table, and spent the next hour re-reading the same two paragraphs. 

Finally he put the book down in disgust, and after tossing and turning for a while, he found himself getting out of bed almost not of his own volition and pacing the bedroom.

He wasn't sure how long he had been doing this before the door opened a crack, and James peered in, then came in and shut the door behind him. 

"Ha!" said James, "I knew it, you are pacing, and doing so without dressing gown, socks or slippers."

James (who was of course wearing an elegant dressing gown, socks and slippers) peremptorily picked up Francis' dressing gown from where it was hanging and held it out. 

"I can pace how I please."

"And catch a chill how you please too." 

"So I can. So there is no cause for you to be out of bed risking your health to nag me."

"Very well." James kicked off his slippers, dropped his dressing gown on a chair and got into Francis' bed, snuggling under the covers before propping himself up enough on the pillows to look smugly at Francis. 

Damn. He'd walked into that one. Though in truth, pacing in James' company seemed better than pacing on his own. 

He paced some more, realising as he did so that he was more concerned with the man watching him from the bed than he was of the men who would question him in the morning. To anyone who didn't know him well, James would appear relaxed, but Francis could see the anxiety underneath.

Francis was also realising that he was indeed becoming very cold. 

After another lap of the bedroom he got back into bed, with some grumpy muttering to firmly imply that this was all James' fault. He then waited a few moments so James' guard was down before twisting quickly round to plant his extremely cold feet on James' warm midriff. 

James gasped in shock before glaring at Francis, though making no attempt to remove the cold feet. 

"You were worried I was going to catch a chill."

"I'm now thinking that I will. And when I do, I will make sure that I sweat and snuffle all over you. You own slippers, if you must pace." James then took Francis' feet in his hands, and began to rub them to warm them. 

This was not what Francis had intended, and he was beginning to feel warm in places other than his feet. But the contact was just so pleasant that he couldn't bring himself to move. 

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up alone at the sound of Peglar laying then lighting the fire in the morning. 

The enquiry board was just as bad as he feared. The stupidity was if anything worse than Edward had described. And of course because he was Irish, they patronised him, spoke to him like he was an idiot. It took more forbearance than he had actually believed he possessed to take being berated for walking too slowly across the Arctic by men who would complain about having to walk a particularly long train platform. But he needed to. This wasn't about him. The Admiralty and Parliament and Lady Franklin could all have his head and argue about who got to play football with it for all he cared. He was here to defend his men. To make sure that no-one damned them as weak, as cowards. He was already damned.

This meant that it was far worse watching James be questioned than his own interrogation. And it made it clear that they couldn't win. Everything which would have made James the Empire's darling if they had made it through was brought up as a fault. Too young, too bold, too inexperienced.

James seemed to deal with all that well. But then they really twisted the knife. That James was personally responsible for Sir John's death - either irresponsible or deliberately negligent in order to take command. James' response to that came very close to challenging the entire committee to a duel, and Francis had to repress a smile. But they kept on, insinuation and accusation against every one of James' qualities, every requirement for a captain.

It felt like it would never end. Men came in to light the lamps as the sky outside darkened.

Eventually one of the dried-out husks said, "We shall adjourn for the evening, and continue questioning in the morning."

He was at James' side as fast as possible, guiding him out of the room, then out of the building to the waiting carriage. James was still managing to keep up a mask of calm, but Francis could feel how fragile that was. So he didn't try and make conversation on the way back, just linked arms with James. 

He wasn't sure who was propping up who as they walked into the house, greeted by Bridgens' worried face. He took their coats, told them there was a cold supper in the dining room. 

"No, thank you-"

"James, you need to eat," said Francis. "Edward may be fool enough to carry you when you pass out, but I won't, and I won't let Mr Bridgens or Mr Peglar do so either."

James made a face at him, but allowed himself to be shooed into the dining room, and ate a reasonable amount, though without enthusiasm. When they retired to the sitting room James stood at one edge of the rug, staring blankly at the curtains. 

Francis closed the door behind him, and walked to put a hand on James' shoulder. It took a moment to realise that James was crying, silently, almost without expression.

It wasn't even a conscious decision to pull James into a tight hug. James hugged him back, bending over to even their heights.

James didn't release his hold on Francis when he said, "You told me to find my courage from brotherhood and friendship. I believed- I thought- but was it all in the end still worthless?"

Francis pulled back, and held James' face in his hands. "There are men alive today because of you. Every one of them has family, friends. That is more worth, more good than most men achieve in their lives. This thing has taken your health, damn near took your life, took your reputation. But you don't have to let it take everything." 

James smiled weakly, and put one hand to Francis' face. "I was filled with righteous indignation when they were questioning you. I may doubt myself but I do not doubt you." 

“Then don’t doubt my faith in you.”

Francis found himself leaning towards James as if to kiss him, and only just managed to stop himself carrying through the action. He was taken completely off-guard by James leaning forwards and kissing him, stunning Francis into inaction for a second before he found himself kissing him back. 

James' fingers were in his hair, his other hand at Francis' waist, pulling them close together, but part of Francis' brain protested, and he managed to pull himself away, though only a couple of inches, his hands still in James' hair. 

"This- this isn't what you want, you're upset-"

"I have wanted you for so long Francis, and it was only the thought that you did not want me that stayed my hand. Tell me that you do not want this and I will go, even leave this house tonight, but you cannot tell me that I do not know my own mind."

He felt momentarily held in place, looking at James, unable to move. Then he was kissing James, with all the passion and intensity he thought he'd left behind in his twenties. 

James insinuated his thigh between Francis' legs and pulled them close, so Francis could feel that James was as hard as he was. James' left hand was moving down his flank, to his hip, and now James was gently pushing him to step backwards-

"We are not doing this on the sofa or the floor."

James caught his lips in a brief kiss, then said, "Such a long way upstairs-"

"If you will choose an old man for such things you will not deny him his comforts."

James gave a lascivious grin as he rubbed his leg against Francis' erection. "There appears to be life in the old dog yet."

"Bed."

With an exaggerated sigh, James stepped back and extended a hand to Francis, who took it. He didn't rush Francis up the stairs, but guided him with almost caricatured courtesy, holding a lamp aloft. This completely disappeared as soon as they were behind the closed bedroom door. James dumped the lamp on the bedside table, grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, before pushing him towards the bed. There was a fumbling confusion of hands and fingers as they tried to pull each other’s clothes off as fast as possible, eventually with Francis pushing James away so he could undress himself. 

As soon as they were both undressed James was on him again, pushing him onto the bed, though thankfully with enough thought to get them both under the covers rather than on top of them. James was all lean muscle and bone on top of him, no softness, but heat and weight in constant motion, tongue in his mouth and hips moving to slide their shafts against each other. 

James drew back breathlessly, "Will you fuck me? Hard enough so that tomorrow I'll feel it all day, like you're still inside me when they ask me their questions."

That went straight to his cock, and Francis groaned. "If you carry on like that I won't be able to."

James grinned. "Think of today's interlocutors naked in carnal passion."

"That way leads to a lifetime vow of celibacy."

"Just naked then." James sat up, straddling Francis' hips, and leaned to the bedside, where he found the spare lamp oil. Francis reached out for it, but James pushed his hand away. Then James was oiling his own fingers, and, dear god, fingering himself. Francis forced himself to picture elderly parliamentarians naked, otherwise this was all going to be over in about ten seconds. 

"I thought you said you wanted me to fuck you, and I'm feeling surplus to requirements."

James didn't stop fingering himself as he said, "Oh, I do need you, very much, but I recalled that you said you were an old man who needed his comforts, and I didn't want to go overtaxing you." 

Francis was about to object, when James' hand was on his cock, guiding it, and then he was gently breaching James, unable to suppress his moan as the head of his cock was squeezed, but James kept pushing down until he was fully sheathed. 

"Francis, oh god, I, oh-" That litany continued as James began to move, at first slowly, then faster and deeper, and dear god it felt so good. Francis wrapped a hand around James' cock, which just brought his moaning louder and fucking harder, until Francis came so hard it felt like his orgasm was pulled from his whole body, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair, fingers tensing round James' cock as James came with a cry that could probably be heard in Portsmouth.

James dropped to lie half on top of him, a slightly stupid smile on his face. Not that he should comment, he suspected that his own smile was very stupid. James kissed him with lazy affection, before reaching over him for the edge of the covers. He wiped down Francis' chest with the edge of the sheet, before settling the covers over them both. 

Francis kissed him again, then said, "You're going to have to be quieter than that where the servants are less understanding."

James' smile lit up his whole face. "Since that means we're doing this again, anything." 

He pulled James close, "I would say any time, but I might have to make that whenever possible."

"You're not the one who passed out after an easy day's ride. You'll outlast me." James kissed him on the cheek. "Though we should test this idea thoroughly, just to make sure."

"Thoroughly, but not tonight. I don't want to find myself falling asleep while giving evidence."

James made a contented noise and closed his eyes. 

Francis woke to the sound of a fire grate being cleaned. He had a moment of confused panic as he opened his eyes, before realising that while he was indeed naked in bed with a very naked James wrapped round him, the only witness was an unconcerned Peglar, who was methodically laying the fire. 

James was spooned behind Francis, and one of his hands was making its way down Francis's torso, as James gently nudged Francis's leg so he could slide his half-hard cock between Francis' thighs. To tell him to stop would be to draw more attention to the situation-

James' hand curled around his cock, as the head of James' hardening cock nudged against Francis' balls, and he had to try very hard not to draw attention to the situation himself. 

"What time is it, Mr Peglar?" said James in an even, sleepy voice that betrayed nothing of what was going on under the covers. 

"Just before seven, sir."

"Thank you. Tell Mr Bridgens I will ring for him when he is needed."

Francis caught just a hint of a suppressed grin before Peglar said, "Yes, sir."

As soon as the door had shut behind Peglar, James' mouth was on Francis' neck, his fingers teasing at Francis' cock, and his hips moving. Francis tipped his head back to kiss James, moved to press back as James pressed forwards, until James came, hot release over Francis' balls, and James' fingers kept moving until Francis came as well. 

Neither of them made any move to untangle from their sticky embrace. 

"I'm not an invalid, you know. I can actually play an active part in this."

James kissed the angle of his jaw. "I'm enjoying pretending that I'm ravishing you."

"I take offence that you could imagine I would not protest at being ravished against my will."

"Spoilsport."

The questioning didn't get any better the second time around. His anger, if anything was worse, but he still managed to master himself, to keep his answers calm and measured for the sake of his men. For James. As for James, he seemed rejuvenated, answering questions with poise and dignity. 

That seemed to take the wind out of their sails, and they had run out of questions by lunchtime, and with some distinct reluctance told them that they could go and would not be called to give more evidence. 

He barely had to exchange a word with James to know that they were in complete agreement to get out of London and back to Amvale as fast as possible, and with the help of Bridgens and Peglar they were soon on a train out of the capital. James fell asleep within fifteen minutes. Francis felt the same pang he did every time he saw a demonstration of the fragility of James' health. Though he had been annoyed by it at the time, he remembered the sheer vitality of the man only five years ago. To have so much taken, and yet to have not gratitude or plaudits, but constant blame. It would be understandable if he had become bitter, but somehow he hadn't; instead he had drawn his horizons inwards, and seemed to have found contentment within the small circuit of a country estate. 

Francis realised that this thought process had brought a faint ache to his chest. Dear God, he loved this man more than he thought it was possible to love. 

This unforgivably soppy reverie meant that when it came to the station where they needed to change trains, he was quite unprepared and had to hurriedly wake James, pick up their bags and practically push him out of the carriage onto the platform. 

They arrived in good time for dinner, and the conversation was all about the enquiry. He had wondered if James might perhaps say something about them, but he didn't give anything away. 

That night, he dressed for bed as usual, a knot in his stomach. Perhaps James wouldn't come. Perhaps it had all been due to the stress of the enquiry-

The door between his room and James' opened, and James came through it, as he had done every night for months now, except this time, after sliding into bed, he caught Francis in a lingering kiss.

James pulled back to look at Francis, then narrowed his eyes. "You were worried I wouldn't come."

"And if I was?"

James kissed him again. "Owing to an unfortunate brain injury sustained in the Arctic, I appear to be in love with you, and this condition seems to be permanent. If you want to be rid of me, you will have to tell me as such, and while I will mope and pine I will probably survive."

"I think I might have the same condition, as I fear I am in love with you."

James' smile was so bright that Francis felt that something in his chest might burst. "We shall be afflicted together then." 

James snuggled into him, and was asleep in a few minutes. Francis lay there, one hand tangled in James' hair, wondering at the circumstances that had led them here. 

He woke the next morning to find James wrapped around him. He pressed a kiss to James’ neck, as the only part of him he could actually see. James made a contented noise and started pushing up Francis’ nightgown. Then, before he could do anything, James was sliding under the covers and taking his cock in his mouth.

Oh god James was good at this. He laced his fingers into his hair, and barely had time for a warning “James, I’m going to-” before he was coming.

James emerged from the covers, looking smug. “Good morning.”

He kissed him, and felt that it was beholden on him to return the favour. He was about to duck beneath the covers when James stopped him, “You really don’t have to.” Francis was going to protest, when James silenced him with a kiss before saying, “Your discomfort is quite obvious.”

“I should return the gesture at least-”

“An act performed because I wished to give you pleasure, not as some sort of barter.”

“But-”

“And selfishly, a discomfited cocksucking is unlikely to be very good.”

“Humph.”

James chuckled and rolled on top of him, hard cock pressing into Francis’ thigh. “Have I insulted your abilities very badly?”

Francis rolled them back so he was on top of James. “Insulted them without even any evidence.”

James laughed. “Shall you demand satisfaction, sir? Because I had thought I had already provided it.”

Kissing James was the best way of shutting him up. As they kissed James took his hand and guided it to his cock, moaning into the kiss as Francis took him in hand. It didn’t take much before James was pressing into Francis’ hand and spilling over them both.

They breakfasted with Edward and Tom that morning, as always. And the day was quite normal – the weather was poor, so James didn’t go out riding, but instead they both headed for the library. Francis knew he would be too distracted for much, so while James wrote, he found a copy of _Mr Midshipman Easy_ to grumble at the inaccuracies in. In the afternoon they wrapped up for a short walk in the gardens.

James took his arm, as he often did when they walked together – less a gesture of intimacy, more to ensure that they kept to a pace that was comfortable for him. Except that now he was using the closeness to say into Francis’ ear, “I find I am thinking of the things we could do in the hedge walk.”

“Really. In this weather.”

“In better weather the gardeners will be around.”

“I thought your best performances were to an audience.”

“I am quite happy with an audience of one these days, especially when he is so appreciative.”

Francis found himself smiling, and quite lost for any sort of comeback. They walked for a while in companionable silence, before James said, “We shall have to tell Edward and Tom about our, ah, changed circumstances.”

“Of course. This evening?”

“Yes.” James paused. “I feel I should apologise to them as well, for my previous dismissiveness of their relationship. Though I don’t know how I shall word it.”

“I had been meaning to ask – you seem, er, experienced-”

James chuckled. “You have leave to call me a hypocrite. But- I considered that relieving one’s tensions with a man was one thing, attachment quite another.” James looked at the ground as he said, “I had not thought it possible to be so attached to anyone that to consider being parted from them feels like a physical pain. But now I find that I am.”

Francis squeezed his arm tightly, “I am most happy to be attached to you.”

“Happy?” said James, smiling. “Should I call for the docto- ow!”

Francis had elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Mind, I don’t know _why_ I am attached to you.”

After dinner they retired to the sitting room, and once Edward had dismissed the servants for the evening, Francis glanced at James, who nodded slightly. James rose and locked the door, as Edward and Tom looked on, obviously aware that something was afoot.

When James came back to sit next to him on the sofa, Francis realised that he had no words for what he wanted to say; everything was either too coarse or too indirect. “I should tell you, er… that is, er… we should…”

He was silenced by James kissing him with such energy and enthusiasm that he ended up flat on his back on the sofa. When James finally decided to stop kissing him, but remain lying on top of him, grinning down at him, Francis glared at him and said “Dignified.”

“Always.”

“And what were you going to tell us?” said Tom.

Francis, still trapped under James, turned his head to glare at the other sofa. Edward and Tom, instead of their usual position at each end of the sofa, were sat together, arms around each other’s waist.

Francis had the sudden, leaden realisation that in all the time he’d been here he hadn’t seen them touch once. His and James’ stupidity had meant that for months Edward and Tom had felt that they couldn’t even sit together in their own sitting room.

Getting no reply, Edward said, “Probably that they would like us to get a chaise longue. Sofas are not designed for lying on.”

Francis pushed James until they were both sitting up again, and said, “Don’t encourage him.”

James put both his arms around Francis’ waist and beamed as he squeezed him. “I require no encouragement.”

“We’re very happy for you,” said Edward.

“Do I detect that this has been a topic of conversation between you two before tonight?” said James.

“No,” said Edward.

“Yes,” said Tom.

Edward and Tom looked at each other, and whatever brief unvoiced debate they had was obviously decided by Tom kissing Edward tenderly.

Francis’ stomach twisted, which he knew was ridiculous, he had been kissing another man a moment ago. But he had never _seen_ a man kiss another, and before all this would never have thought to consider that such relations between men could include tenderness. His world had not quite finished with turning itself upside down.

“There’s different sorts of intimate,” said Tom, “We just weren’t sure what sort of intimate you were.”

“Well,” said James, “I suspect that whatever conclusions you came to, they have at some point over the past year been correct.”

\---

With the worry about the various enquiries, and, well, some other more horizontal distraction, by the time James even thought about inviting anyone for Christmas (with Edward and Tom's blessing, of course), everyone had already accepted other invitations. He wasn't sure whether Edward and Tom had chosen not to invite anyone for Christmas, or had their invitations declined, and it seemed rude to ask. In fact, only Francis had actually asked someone who had responded positively. So Christmas was going to be the four of them, Blanky and his brood. 

It was a week before they arrived that Francis said, "I'm going to tell Thomas about us."

Until that moment James had been lying bonelessly curled around Francis, in a state he would describe as "happily fucked". He immediately went into tense alertness. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. He's one of my best friends. You know he doesn't care."

"I know he doesn't care about Edward and Tom. What he thinks about us is quite a different matter."

"What are you talking about?"

James propped himself up on one elbow to look at Francis. "I am quite sure that he would think that if you were to be engaging in deviant practices with someone, that should be someone suitable. Which I doubt I am."

"And why are you unsuitable?"

"Firstly, I suspect that I do not meet the requisite physical standards. Perhaps if I had at some point in my travels bare-knuckle fought a tiger, I might almost pass muster. Secondly, I still have enough vanity to own embroidered nightshirts, which is definitely too much vanity to be suitable-"

"How long have you been thinking about this?" 

James looked at the pillows. "Since you invited him."

Francis kissed him. "I think you are most suitable, and if he thinks differently I will persuade him otherwise." 

"Now I'm wondering if he will set me some fairytale tasks to prove myself worthy. There hasn't been any suspiciously dragonlike activity around here recently, has there?"

"No, and if he tries to lock me in a tower I'll punch him."

James tried to be reassured, but it didn't really take. 

He should have guessed that Edward, a seasoned worrier, and Tom, a seasoned observer of Edward's worrying, would notice. They were all four in the sitting room in the evening, when Edward said, "I'm sure that Mr Blanky's visit will be fine."

"I am sure that the visit will be fine for everyone else. I am less sure about myself."

"Why-" started Edward, but Francis cut him off. 

"For some reason James has decided that he is the villain of a gothic novel, and Blanky is going to give him his just desserts. Which would be bad enough, but this makes me the gothic heroine and I am not having that." James saw the look exchanged between Tom and Edward, and their repressed smiles. Francis obviously had too, as he pointed at Tom and said, "Thomas Jopson, if you make any comment about being on battlements in nightgowns, I will make you regret it." 

Tom arranged his features into a look of complete innocence, rather undermined by Edward’s poorly suppressed mirth. Of course, this left James an opening he simply had to take. "You are certainly pale, but maiden-" Francis' glare silenced him. 

That was enough for a laugh to escape Edward before he composed himself again. 

"You should watch out," said Tom, "you're the evil Earl who has helped James lock Francis up in his castle. Blanky'll be coming for you too."

"I'm sure that would make you my wicked henchman, so you're not safe either." 

Francis sighed. "Idiots."

"But seriously, why do you think that Mr Blanky will want to harm you?" asked Edward.

"Not that I will come to harm but experience severe disapproval, because I don't think I am likely to meet his standards for Francis."

"Standards? Him?" said Tom, "He'll just care if you make Francis happy or not."

"Hmmm."

Francis narrowed his eyes at him. "You want to be a gothic villain."

"I do not."

"Gothic heroine then."

"I don't have to sit here and be insulted. If anyone wants me, I'll be on the battlements in my nightgown."

"Not many gothic heroines who have nightshirts with frigates on."

James looked at Tom. "How do you-"

"The laundry maids think it's very dashing."

James looked at Francis pointedly. "At least someone does."

James’ mind had definitely not been put at ease, and he greeted the Blankys’ arrival with not insignificant anxiety.

Thomas himself looked the picture of health when he arrived; his wife was a small, plump lady, who immediately asked after the health of Tom and Francis in a way which suggested that if they weren’t being looked after properly she would find out who was responsible for this and make them suffer. The two girls were very polite and absolutely enchanted by the library, which neatly solved the problem of how they were going to be kept entertained.

It was all very pleasant, hearing news from outside their bubble, with Thomas’ opinions being even more unrestrained outside the Navy and supplemented by his wife, who was obviously some sort of central sorting-house for rumour and gossip. But Francis still hadn’t told Thomas anything, and that meant that all this could be the calm before the storm.

He slipped into bed that night with Francis as usual, shared a kiss, then Francis cupped his face in his hand and smoothed a thumb across his cheek. “See, I said that there would be no disapproval.”

“There is no disapproval because you haven’t told him yet. He probably has tolerably low expectations for Edward’s houseguests and quite different ones for your paramour.”

“I don’t understand why you have convinced yourself that he will think badly of you.”

“I- wait, Francis, are you saying you don’t understand why _I_ am being pessimistic?”

Francis glared at him, which somehow turned into a tussle, which turned into something rather more interesting and enjoyable. But even that wasn’t enough to ease him into sleep.

He watched Francis sleep, tucked into himself in the way of all men used to bedding down in narrow bunks. He must have fallen asleep himself at some point, but it would have been well into the small hours of the morning.

When Francis casually said to Thomas over breakfast that he’d like to have a word with him in private, James felt sure that he kept his expression neutral though his stomach flipped. After breakfast the Blanky girls went to ensconce themselves in the library once more, Tom offered to show Mrs Blanky the grounds, and Edward muttered something about estate business and shut himself in his study with what James felt was somewhat unseemly haste.

This left James at somewhat of a loose end. In normal circumstances the house offered diversions from exploration to reading, but he didn’t feel he could settle to anything. He paced for a while, before throwing himself into a chair in the next room he came to with a fire in it. In the warmth, he thought he would just let his eyes drift shut for a moment. 

He was woken by a servant telling him that the others were waiting for him at lunch.

Both Thomas and Francis were unusually quiet over lunch, which was worrying. Not that an external observer would have noticed, since the Blanky women happily filled the conversational space.

“I know it’s not at its best in winter, but you do have a lovely garden here Edward.” She looked sharply at one of the servants, who hadn’t bothered to conceal his reaction at her overfamiliar form of address. “Don’t you dare give me that look young man, if all the menfolk at this table are calling him Edward I’m not going bowing and scraping and calling him his lordship.”

That at least got a smile from both Francis and Thomas.

“I could not demand a formality from you that I did not ask for from your husband, Mrs Blanky.”

“Esther, please. And thank you, love. As I was saying, you’ve got a lovely garden here, and Tom was saying that there’s some right pretty views on the estate.”

“The weather hasn’t been too hard, just about all the lanes are fine for the carriage.” This was said by Tom pointedly at Edward.

Edward gave Tom a look which was clearly “do not make me do this”, countered by a “don’t you dare try and wriggle out of this” look from Tom. 

Edward gave in and sagged minutely, before turning to one of the servants, “Please tell the coachman to make the carriage ready. Mrs Blanky, Tom and I will be making a tour of the estate this afternoon.”

That was almost certainly deliberate to get them out of the way for whatever peace negotiations were to take place between him, Francis and Thomas this afternoon.

After lunch the girls disappeared to the library again, Mrs Blanky, Edward and Tom went out, and he, Francis and Thomas headed to the sitting room. Francis locked the door behind them, which was another bad sign. James took one of the chairs and pretended to be relaxed.

“Well?” said Francis to Thomas.

“What do you want me to say? Congratulations on losing your marbles?”

“I don’t understand why you are quite happy with Edward and Tom, but when it comes to me-“

“Because I know you. Those two, always bloody obvious how their sails were set. But you, you’ve been pining after some woman or another all the time I’ve known you.”

“Men can change.”

“That much? Is it being stuck here? Did you think no woman would have you?”

“I am so glad to be thought of as a last resort,” said James. He might as well remind the two of them that he was actually present.

“A bad influence, at least,” said Thomas, looking at him for the first time. “Maybe a Penny Dreadful seducer.”

James let out a short laugh. “I don’t even know how one would go about seducing Francis.”

“It is not desperation, nor loneliness, because God knows you know I can handle that, Thomas.” Francis looked at the floor. “It’s… dammit, Thomas, I fell in love and I don’t have to justify that to you. I can no more explain it than you can understand whales singing.”

James stood up and went to sit by Francis, putting one arm around his waist and pressing a kiss into his hair. Thomas could think the worst of him, he didn’t care (just as long as he didn’t follow through any thoughts that might involve axes or similar). But he wanted Francis to have the acceptance he obviously so desperately needed.

The silence drew on, and James was not minded to break it.

Finally, Blanky said, “I suppose if you had to choose a man, you could choose worse.”

“Thank you for your high opinion of my taste.”

“I find myself more interested in his list of men who would be more suitable than me,” said James.

That made Blanky laugh. After another long pause, he said, “He makes you happy.”

“He does.” Francis looked sidelong at James and smiled. “Though Christ alone knows why.”

Blanky sighed. “Precious little happiness in this world.” He paused then grinned. “And it’s not like he’s only after you for your money or looks.”

“Always so complimentary.”

“Going to take me a long time to get used to the idea, mind.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

There was another long pause before James said, “Are you planning on sharing this information with Mrs Blanky?”

“Oh aye,” said Blanky with a smile. “Can’t have her finding out I’m keeping something interesting from her. Don’t worry about her telling people. She only tells what she knows doesn’t hurt.”

James had the strong feeling that he did not want Esther Blanky as an enemy. “So she knows about Edward and Tom?”

“’Course. Right now Edward will be being interrogated about how he’s treating Tom.” He grinned. “You should get ready, because you’ll be next.”

“Is it too late to flee the country?”

Edward did have a very hangdog expression when the carriage party returned, but as the man disappeared with Tom using the evergreen excuse of “estate business”, there was no opportunity to draw him aside to find out what his own grilling was likely to entail. Dinner was pleasant and companionable, and Edward appeared to have recovered, so the grilling could not have been so bad, which was reassuring. Unless of course Esther was saving her full firepower for James.

They retired to the sitting room, the Blanky girls were sent to bed, and finally the servants dismissed. Tom locked the door, and went to sit on the sofa next to Edward, putting his arm around his waist. Edward froze in position.

Esther put her arms around Thomas’ waist and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Oh do stop being such a worrywart Edward. I’ve seen enough right strange things in my time as not to be shocked by two men having a cuddle.”

Edward put his arm around Tom’s waist stiffly, and did not relax one bit.

James looked sidelong at Francis, to find that Francis was looking sidelong at him. He assessed his options: too little affection might put him into Esther’s bad graces, too much affection would offend Thomas’ sensibilities. He proceeded with caution, sliding along the sofa and putting an arm around Francis’ waist.

Thomas smiled at Esther. “Nowt so queer as folk.”

“Aye, and queerest of all are the ones who’ll happily get themselves iced in for six months. Anything after that is positively normal.”

“Oh, all this illegality and immorality is normal now?”

“I can get you more illegality and immortality for a hapenny down Rose Lane of a Friday night than goes on in this house.”

“You haven’t been down Rose Lane-“

“I’m a respectable woman, Thomas Blanky, and respectable women do not set foot on that street. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on. There are things I’ve heard as would make your hair curl.”

“Such as?”

“Wouldn’t be suitable for mixed company.”

“You’re the only mixed company here!”

This dissolved into a rather circular debate, so familiar in its contours that James realised that he had been practically married to Francis for months before he had first bedded him. But rather than feeling regret, he instead felt an immense warmth toward the man in his arms. He bent his head and whispered into Francis’ ear, “I love you.”

Francis looked at him in surprise, then a smile broke over his face. He leaned in and whispered, “I love you too.”

He wanted to kiss Francis, but that was probably a step too far in the current company. He contented himself with a tight embrace and a kiss to Francis’ forehead.

There was indeed precious little happiness in the world. He may have come to his in strange places and by strange paths, but he would guard it like the most valuable jewel in the world.

\---

Postscript: extracts from _Amvale Castle Guidebook_ , 1996 edition.

The Small Study

...in this room only the ceiling and some of the panelling survives from the original decorative scheme of 1601. Most of what you see today was the work of the 11th Earl in the early 1850s who used this room as his study...

The large painting above the fireplace depicts the 11th Earl, Edward Little (1815-1879; seated) and his secretary, Thomas Jopson (1817-1879; standing). While the portrait is posed in the study, the view through the window shows an imagined Arctic scene including a depiction of an icebound HMS Terror, the ship on which both served during the ill-fated Franklin Expedition. This also likely inspired their striking white marble tomb which can be seen in the family mausoleum. 

On the facing wall there is a smaller portrait of Francis Crozier (1792-1874; left) and James Fitzjames (1813-1872; right), Captain of HMS Terror and Commander of HMS Erebus respectively. Both were court martialled in 1849 over the fate of the Franklin Expedition, and after this were invited by the 11th Earl to live at Amvale. The gravestone in the chapel graveyard topped with the distinctive design of two frigates belongs to them.


End file.
